


Fatherhood, Under Duress

by Joules Mer (joulesmer)



Series: Strange Courage [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Baby Kirk-McCoy, Family, Five Year Mission, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-13 09:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15361812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joulesmer/pseuds/Joules%20Mer
Summary: “Pass the hot sauce.”  Leonard still couldn’t believe those were his last words to Jim.  An offhand remark during an interminable banquet to celebrate first contact between Starfleet and the Hav'yhr.  A banquet where Jim had been a complete hit with the alien leadership, and they had learned too late that Hav'yhr culture had an interesting concept of personhood and fair compensation.  Now there’s something lodged in his abdomen with Kirk-McCoy DNA, and if his scans are right he’s only got about six weeks before his life could change forever.





	1. Chapter 1

“Pass the hot sauce.” Leonard still couldn’t believe those were his last words to Jim. An offhand remark during an interminable banquet to celebrate first contact between Starfleet and the Hav'yhr. _Pass the fucking hot sauce_. With a bob of his head that took the place of _please_. Christ, he hadn’t even been particularly polite.

At the time the first contact seemed to be going well; two days of negotiations and they’d exchanged cultural databases, shared general technological specifications, set a timeline for formal diplomatic follow-up and were now toasting their newfound friends. The Hav’yhr travelled using a fast-than-light technology augmented by a network of relay stations that had Scotty salivating at the thought of testing. It was everything their five-year mission was supposed to be about, and Jim had been in his element: handsome and straight-backed as he walked next to the alien captain, asking all the right questions and animated as he explained Starfleet and the Federation when questioned in return. Watching from the side, it was hard not to feel a tug of pride at the sight of Jim, something possessive sparking deep in Leonard’s gut that made the doctor stand a little straighter himself.

The only downside of the fast friendship, so far as Leonard was concerned, was the never-ending line of questioning from his counterpart on the Hav’yhr vessel. He’d sent over an abridged medical database the previous day and the alien medic seemed to want to go through it subsection by subsection. Answering a question about the regrowth potential of Andorian antennae, Leonard could feel himself losing his voice, but somehow managed to keep a smile on his face for Jim’s sake. _For Jim’s sake_ , he reminded himself more firmly. After Pike and Khan and death and Leonard’s own illness, Jim deserved every success their five-year mission could afford.

Taking a sip of his water, he almost spat it clear across the table at the next words from the alien’s mouth: “We took comprehensive bioscans as you beamed aboard our ship yesterday; could you explain the significance of your DNA in the captain’s rectum?” Leonard didn’t spit, but he did choke, which the alien evidently interpreted as confusion and continued to explain: “We observed three of your crewmembers with significant contamination by…”

Red faced, Leonard held up a hand and the alien trailed off. Composing himself as best as he could, he foundered for a moment before settling on an explanation: “We typically don’t talk about that so bluntly; such a scan would be considered a mild invasion of personal privacy, as it is indicative of sexual contact between individuals. This is typically only disclosed by the individuals themselves, and generally not in specific detail.”

“Sexual contact?” Yellow eyestalks wiggled, then straightened, “Oh, procreation? Yes?”

“Well,” God, this was _not_ in his job description. He was half tempted to call Spock over and inform him that his counterpart had some scientific questions about humans, just to see the awkwardness. “The captain and I can’t procreate as such, given we’re both males, but we are in a committed monogamous relationship.” He could feel his cheeks starting to burn and uttered a silent prayer that Jim and Scotty were both distracted with their own conversations; if they caught a glance at him now they were liable to ask about it later.

“Fascinating.” Leaning forward, the alien laced his claws together as he said, “We have not engaged in unassisted procreation for centuries. When novel lineage is desired, genetic material of compatible individuals is combined in vitro, prior to in vivo incubation; alternatively, we make direct duplications of noteworthy individual backgrounds. We have also accelerated the early development process.” The alien paused and seemed to be waiting for Leonard to reply.

“We do in vitro fertilization as well, but don’t accelerate anything.” This was slightly safer grounds, something to talk about in clinical terms that were removed from exactly what he’d done to Jim in the captain’s bed that morning. Cheeks flushing further, desperate to change the subject, he added, “I’ll forward you some relevant materials on humanoid mating behavior. You can look at it later.” He put enough stress on _later_ that even the alien understood. He could talk about this kind of thing clinically, of course, but when framed as his and Jim’s _mating habits_ it was a bit too much for over dinner.

Turning his attention back to his bowl, Leonard frowned at the bland, sponge-like loaf that seemed to make up the majority of their third course. The Hav'yhr were hosting the banquet and had set up long tables and benches in what might have been a cargo bay. Some sort of ceremonial brazier smoked at the far end of the room; it made his nose twitch and he sighed, internally. He’d never fancied himself a diplomat. Everything had passed his biosafety scans, even calibrated for Jim’s allergies, but that didn’t mean the alien food would be to their taste. Remembering a condiment that had been passed around with an earlier course, he managed to catch Jim’s eye several places down the table and with a bob of his head asked, “Pass the hot sauce.”

Jim slid it down with a smile, but was in conversation with the other captain before Leonard had a chance to thank him. 

The rest of the banquet passed more easily, the other doctor still talkative, but the conversation turned to more of a give and take about xenovirology that held both their interests. The brazier continued to smoke and the room became increasingly hazy; God, how many more courses were there going to be?

Muffling a yawn as the event continued to drag on, Leonard blinked… and found himself horizontal. What? He was prone on a hard surface, with his eyes shut. Disoriented, it took him a moment to catalogue the familiar instrument noises: sensors, the beep of a scan completing, the ping of the communications array. He was on the bridge.

Footsteps. A tentatively questioning, “sir.” Then a hand on his upper arm. Opening his eyes, with effort, Leonard found himself facing a baby faced ensign he couldn’t quite name. Sims? Simmons? Simons, that was it. “Ensign Simons?” His voice croaked oddly, but the ensign’s face blossomed into relief. Clawing his way upright, he found Uhura, Spock, and Sulu scattered across the bridge in similar stages of disorientation. God, was the ship always so bright? Chekov was perched in the command chair, regarding the scene with a pale, worried face.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Leonard growled, “What the hell was that?” The light sent a weak stab of pain through his head and his mouth was fuzzy-- it was an unfortunately familiar sensation: they’d drugged him, the bastards.

“Unknown,” Spock straightened, casting a glance at Uhura as he did so. 

From the conn, Chekov turned wide eyes to his commanding officers, accent thickened in distress as he asked, “But where is the Captain?”

_Jim_. An ugly emotion slammed into Leonard and his gaze darted from one edge of the bridge to the other. Everyone from the away team was there, except for Jim. Regretting that he’d spent the entire banquet playing nice, whatever showed on his face had the ensign who had helped him up beat a hasty retreat.

Chekov vacated the chair immediately, making space as Spock strode to the centre of the bridge and motioned for Uhura to open a channel. The screen quickly swam to life to show the Hav'yhr captain. Without waiting for pleasantries, Spock demanded, “Where is Captain Kirk?”

Gripping the railing behind the captain’s chair, Leonard ran his thumb over the almost imperceptible divot that always brought him comfort. Please, he thought, please, please, please…

The Hav'yhr tilted his head to one side in a gesture that didn’t seem in the slightest bit anxious, or apologetic. “We have returned you to your vessel, with appropriate compensation.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed, head tilting to the side as his eyebrows drew together. “Compensation for what?”

“For the life-taking of Kirk. May our entwining lead to prosperity for you as well.” The channel closed abruptly, replacing the alien with the exterior of his vessel.

Life- _taking_? Leonard gripped the railing so hard his knuckles blanched.

Without looking away from the screen, Spock started to order, “Get them ba--”

Urgently, Sulu looked up from his console, “They’re engaging their engines...”

The ship’s log registered that there were only three tenths of a second before the Hav'yhr ship vanished in a flash of light, but for Leonard it seemed to take much longer. Jabbing a hand towards the empty starfield, he demanded, “Follow them!’

“We can’t.” Sulu spun in his chair, pale and apologetic.

“Whaddya mean you can’t?”

Chekov turned as well and threw up his hands. “There isn’t a warp signature to track; we need a map of their relay stations, and even then…”

“Doctor…” Spock’s admonishment cut in before he could say anything truly insulting. Leonard’s mouth snapped closed, even as he gripped the railing more tightly. Satisfied at having quelled the outburst, the Vulcan continued, “Lieutenant Uhura: assemble Commander Scott, Lieutenant Scripps and Ensign Xian in the main briefing room.” Addressing Chekov and Sulu as well, he continued, “We are going to determine what has transpired, and how to find Captain Kirk.”

The others hurried to comply, but Leonard couldn’t quite get his hands to release their hold on the railing. His heart was pounding as well, a tachycardia that needed to be brought under control. Closing his eyes, Leonard tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t quite manage it. He couldn’t breathe. Goddamn it, he couldn’t _breathe_. After a moment, he was aware of a faint scent of spice: Vulcan meditation incense. 

“Doctor?” The word came from close to his ear.

Leonard’s heart still felt too fast. Shakily, he murmured, “You heard them, Spock. Jim…”

“I do not believe Jim is dead.” Spock kept his voice pitched low; for Leonard’s ears alone. “An… impression… remains of him through the remnants of our bond. It is faint, but I believe I would know if he were to be killed.”

“Are you sure?”

“I cannot be sure of anything, but I am confident.”

It was better than nothing. Vulcan mumbo-jumbo; he still hated it, but perhaps it had its uses. Something seemed to release, and Leonard managed to step away from the railing.

The already long day turned into a long night of poring over padds in the briefing room: Scotty, Sulu, and Chekov going through the technical specifications and topography of the Hav'yhr transit network; Uhura, Spock, Scripps and Xian trying to determine what the had been meant by life-taking and compensation. Leonard tried to help, but the words on his padd kept swimming, his thoughts turning from technical details he didn’t really understand to a repeated, Jim, Jim, Jim that pounded along with the beat of his heart. M’Benga had run a basic vitals scan as they worked and proclaimed them all healthy enough despite having been knocked out, so there wasn’t even an excuse to distract himself with his medkit, and he wasn’t about to abandon the search effort to return to the med bay for further scans.

Four hours later, Leonard was dimly aware that Uhura and Scripps had been conferring for a while. When Spock and Xian joined them as well, he took that as a sign and approached their small huddle, interjecting with a gruff, “Find something?”

At a nod from Spock, Uhura began to explain. “The Hav'yhr have a very different concept of autonomy than we do.” That didn’t sound like a promising start. She flicked her hair back in a gesture Leonard interpreted as unease as she continued, “So far as I can tell, they form loose clan bonds in groups of between thirty and several hundred. The notion of an individual having interests or rights outside of the interest of their clan doesn’t seem to exist.”

Eyes narrowed, Leonard ground out, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few? That kind of thing.” _Thing_ was said in a tone that clearly indicated he considered it synonymous with bullshit.

Xian winced, but Uhura simply ignored his outburst and continued, “Clan ties appear to be somewhat mutable as well. When mutually advantageous, individuals may simply swap ties. In other circumstances, a clan may take an individual from another clan and offer fair compensation. This is referred to as life-taking.”

A hot wave of momentary relief rolled over Leonard at the definition of the term, but it quickly evaporated. “Fair compensation? What, they left us a gift somewhere? Is there a Jim Kirk sized fruit basket in my med bay?”

Uhura glanced sideways at Spock, and he replied instead, “In this context, individuals are not considered intrinsically unique. The clan may give another adult individual, or simply create an infant if that would suffice.”

Create one? Remembering the Hav'yhr medic’s explanation from earlier, Leonard frowned: _We make direct duplications of noteworthy individual backgrounds. We have also accelerated the early development process._ “They’re going to make us a goddamn _clone_ of Jim and call it fair?”

Xian and Scripps looked like they wanted the deck plating to swallow them up right there. Uhura’s dark eyes flooded with compassion. “I’m sorry, Len. I think they genuinely didn’t understand.”

“Well then we’d damn well better explain it to them!” Turning to Sulu, Scotty and Chekov, he barked, “Have you figured out how to track them?”

Scotty rose to the challenge, but uncertainty was plain in his voice, “They gave us a comprehensive map of their network, and from what they told us about their cargo I think we can narrow down the possible destinations. There _may_ be a way to track their progress between the relay stations, but we need to find the nearest relay and then run simulations.”

Leonard liked this less and less. Dropping his head into his hands, he mumbled, “And just when is this compensation supposed to materialize? Are they going to pop back in a few months and hand us a child?”

Spock tipped his head to one side, tone softening, “I cannot say, Doctor.”

The others exchanged glances as the silence lengthened. Eventually, Leonard managed to compose himself and raised his head. “Do we know where the nearest relay station is?”

Sulu swallowed, gaze skittering around the table before he met the doctor’s eyes. “About two days travel away.”

Spock seemed to deliberately straighten in his chair, addressing both Sulu and Chekov as he said, “Set a course.”

****************

Two sleepless nights later they arrived at the first relay station. Leonard had been on the bridge when it came into view, and it was a wonder it hadn’t exploded straight away from the heat of his glare. Chekov, Scotty, and Sulu had gone to work, and there hadn’t been anything for the doctor to do but eventually give up and return to the med bay. 

He stayed there for four more days, catching snatches of sleep on the cot next to the isolation ward, waiting for news that never came. As the fourth day bled into the fifth, Leonard eventually admitted defeat and made his way back to Jim’s quarters.

It was 0300 ship’s time, and gamma shift were quietly going about their duties. The door opened at his thumbprint, as it had since they first returned to the Enterprise to start their five year mission. He could still remember the smile on Jim’s face when they’d reprogrammed the door. Leonard kept quarters for himself, but they were rarely used: only those very infrequent times when taxing duties at odd hours made it better to catch uninterrupted sleep separately, or Leonard had a patient in critical condition and needed to be in the CMO’s quarters closer to med bay.

For several glorious seconds as his head swam with exhaustion, Leonard could imagine Jim was still there. They’d left for the banquet in a hurry and he still hadn’t tidied up: a mismatched dress sock was draped on the end of the sofa, Jim’s padds scattered across their shared desk, a glass on the bedside table, and an academy sweatshirt of Jim’s draped over the back of a chair. As the silence stretched, he was forced to acknowledge that they were only trappings of another person, and he was still alone. Absently, Leonard stripped off his uniform and changed into pyjamas, then thumbed off the lights and slipped into the bed. 

One pillow still smelled like Jim.

The bed was too big. Too empty.

He didn’t sleep.

Five hours later, Leonard hauled himself up and pulled on fresh uniform trousers. He was standing in the middle of the room, trying to decide whether he’d rather _not eat_ a protein bar from Jim’s desk, or _not eat_ a breakfast in the mess hall, when a wave of nausea slammed into him. He barely made it into the head before he began to vomit; a painful heaving into the toilet that didn’t stop even when he could only bring up a weak stream of bile. It went on for longer than he’d expected, and when it stopped he found himself shivering like a newborn colt. 

Jesus, what was wrong with him? Leonard had to pull himself up using the countertop, bracing himself until his legs felt steadier. Unbidden, the words of the Hav'yhr medic thundered through his ears:

_Could you explain the significance of your DNA in the captain’s rectum?_

_When novel lineage is desired, genetic material of compatible individuals is combined in vitro, prior to in vivo incubation._

_We have also accelerated the early development process._

Running his hands down his bare chest and abdomen, Leonard’s hand snagged on a tender spot to the right of his naval. It was firmer than it should be, an off-center swelling that made the muscle ache.

Looking at his haggard reflection in the mirror, he breathed, “Not fucking possible.”


	2. Chapter 2

Leonard didn’t remember walking from Jim’s quarters to the med bay. He did remember the look on M’Benga’s face when the other doctor passed a hand scanner over his abdomen. Everything got a bit vague then, until suddenly Spock was there as well, along with an impossible image on the monitor next to his bed: a mass somehow anchored to the inside of his abdominal muscle, vascularized, the shape inside already unmistakable. Leonard thought he was going to vomit all over again, despite being laid out flat on his back on a biobed.

Voiced intruded. M’Benga, to Spock: “It’s showing between five and six weeks of development. Perhaps as a product of some engineering to get it ready for implantation.”

Implantation. Leonard brought up the crook of his elbow to cover his eyes, blocking out the image of the screen.

Spock, to M’Benga: “Keep me apprised, Doctor.”

Footsteps receded, then returned. “Len?” At a grunt from his superior officer, M’Benga continued, “I’d like to give you an antiemetic, some oatmeal, and then run some more detailed scans.”

_Morning sickness_. That’s what this was. Leonard glowered, even as his stomach lurched alarmingly. Grudgingly removing his elbow, he expressed his acquiescence with a hissed, “You don’t breathe a word of this to anyone else.” 

The rest of the day passed in a confused blur: M’Benga running test after test; Christine peeking around the edge of the privacy screen, because _of course_ Christine fucking knew as well; he’d fallen asleep at some point in the late afternoon, waking to Spock frowning at the monitor above his head. The words of the rather eccentric obstetrician who had taken him on rounds as a medical student came: “ _All pregnancies are essentially parasites, we just pretend it’s a beautiful thing to ensure the continuation of our species. If women really thought about what was going on, they’d have a few more reservations._ ”

An hysterical giggle rose in his throat; this had to be karma for laughing at that comment all those years ago. 

Spock caught the motion and turned with a call of, “Doctor.”

Leonard briefly thought he was being addressed, until M’Benga hurried over. The younger doctor had his “it’s bad news, but I’ll frame it optimistically” face on, and anxiety twisted in Leonard’s belly. 

Waving Spock and his CMO over to a screen, M’Benga called up two images and said, “I took these scans eleven hours apart…”

He didn’t have to explain; Leonard picked up on the discrepancy immediately. Touching a finger to the screen, he breathed, “But that’s more like three days of growth.”

“It’s well vascularized; if anything, it has been embedding itself more thoroughly since my first scan. There seems to be a sac surrounding the embryo and it is positioned in a location where it can grow for a little while before it starts putting pressure on your organs. I really don’t know what the risks are here. I don’t think we can trust that the Hav'yhr had a great understanding of human biology. I think it can be removed now without much trouble, but as the vascularization increases or it puts more strain on your body the likelihood of significant complications increases. You don’t need to decide today, Len, but soon…” Trailing off, M’Benga pulled up a genetic sequence and seemed to ground himself in the task rather than its implications as he continued, “It’s not a clone of the captain.”

Before Leonard could ask if they’d put an alien inside him, M’Benga hurried to continue, “They understood the idea of genetic material from both parents, but not how to do it in practice. Here,” M’Benga pulled up a sequence on the display, “Eye color, that’s entirely Kirk, whereas this chromosome is entirely you, on both copies. Nothing is going to be a problem, neither of you have any potentially problematic recessive alleles, but it could make for some striking resemblances.”

“So it’s our,” Leonard peered at a particular spot on the readout, “son.”

Biting his lip in trepidation, M’Benga confirmed, “Essentially.”

“And it will be viable in…”

“At a continued rate of growth, it will be full term in approximately five to six weeks.”

A whispered sigh of, “Motherfucker,” escaped Leonard’s lips. He stared at the readout, willing it to change. It didn’t. 

He needed Jim.

A hand closed over his shoulder. Leonard thought it was M’Benga and started to shrug it off before he realized it was Spock. Recognizing how hard it was for a touch-averse Vulcan to offer comfort, he stilled. 

After a moment, Spock softly said, “I have a command decision to make: one that, given the circumstances, I believe should involve you.”

Oh, Hell. “That doesn’t sound like a good start, Spock.”

“We have continued to examine the technological specifications that were shared with us. The Hav'yhr use a slip-stream technology to travel long distances. A series of unmanned relay stations, in conjunction with their ships’ engines, create subspace anomalies. It allows them to move between very specific locations rapidly, but beyond the network their ships are only capable of low warp.” 

“So they beat us in a sprint, but we trounce them in a marathon?”

“Indeed. From their database and conversation we have several likely destinations some distance from terminal points on the network. If we leave now, we can try to trace them through the network to one of those destinations, and catch them before they leave the planet.”

That was the best news he’d heard all day. Too good. “I have the feeling there’s a catch.”

“It will take considerable time to cover the distance, even at warp, and take us beyond a manageable comms delay.”

“How long?”

“Ensign Chekov estimates fourteen to fifteen weeks. We would be reduced to subspace packets with a weeklong delay for relay via Yorktown. Perhaps longer. Should you require more specialised medical care, or urgent remote consultation, it would be impossible until we complete the round trip.”

Leonard is acutely aware he doesn’t have that long. He doesn’t have half that long.

“Alternatively, we could rendez-vous with the nearest Starfleet vessel in five days, and they could convey you to the care of Starfleet Medical; even if you would not reach Earth in time, medical consultations would be available directly via sub-space link. More importantly, the ship could reach Yorktown within three weeks, which has specialized medical facilities.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Leonard considered the options. If they made the rendez-vous, Enterprise would lose ten days in their pursuit of Jim. He’d have comprehensive medical care, but be alone. If they started pursuit now they would have the best possible chance of finding Jim, but without any medical support or intervention beyond what he and M’Benga could manage themselves.

Jim Kirk didn’t believe in no-win situations. Leonard McCoy had never been so sure. Closing his eyes, the doctor took a slow breath, steadying himself in the face of the unthinkable. “We go after Jim. Now.”

Spock didn’t ask if Leonard was certain; the acting captain merely nodded, and left the med bay.

 

********

Alone in his quarters, Leonard glared at the bottle of bourbon he couldn’t drink. The news had been shared with the senior staff that morning and he still cringed at the memory of the stunned silence that turned into no one knowing what to say until he’d barked out a gruff, “I’m fine,” even as his cheeks turned redder than Scotty’s shirt. Nothing had been decided yet, M’Benga was content to monitor the situation for a short while longer. 

When the door chimed he considered ignoring it, but felt adrift alone. Leonard hadn’t appreciated how he’d become used to the comfort of coming home to another person. “Come in.” He’d have expected M’Benga. Possibly Spock. When the chief engineer awkwardly stepped over the threshold of Jim’s quarters, Leonard’s eyebrow rose of its own accord.

The man appeared ready to bolt at any moment. “I don’t know if this is the right thing to do or completely wrong.” Accent thick with some sort of emotion, Scotty looked anxious but determined, and Leonard didn’t know what to make of the fact that the engineer appeared to be stone-cold sober. 

Settling onto the other side of the small sofa, the engineer began with what sounded like prepared words, “I cannae begin to understand what you’re dealing with...” Oh, God. It was a _feelings_ conversation. Leonard didn’t know if he could manage it. It must have shown on his face, because Scotty held up a forestalling hand and said, “Just let me explain: Jim asked me for some help with a special project a few months ago.”

_Jim_? Not an official project then.

“I only finished it the night before we met those bastards; he never got a look… I don’t know what the right thing to do here is, but I thought maybe, given your situation, while we’re looking for him, you should know.” It was a slurry of sentence fragments that didn’t make much sense beyond conveying anxiety and indecision. Hesitant, Scotty pulled a small scrap of cloth from his pocket and handed it to Leonard.

There was a weight to it, and Leonard felt something shift inside. Opening it on his palm revealed a pair of rings, both sized for a man’s finger. The silvery metal was plain but well polished as he turned one over. The first was loose when he slipped it, tentatively, onto his ring finger. The second fit perfectly.

Scotty cleared his throat, softly, and said, “There’s a place that engineers call the heart of the ship. Jim knew all about it, of course. It’s where the core interfaces with the power grid, right below the dilithium chamber. Where all the raw power is converted into the energy that lets us breathe, keeps our feet on the deck plating, your med bay running, the bridge working, and the nacelles humming. We swapped out one of the platinum pins that hold the array in place.” He indicated the rings, “These had been in the heart since the ship was built in Riverside.”

The heart of the ship. Overwhelmed, Leonard slipped the ring back off, setting it next to its twin on the cloth. He glanced up in time to see Scotty gulp and tried to put his own tumultuous thoughts into words. “Thank you.” A little color appeared in the engineer’s waxen cheeks at that, so Leonard continued, “Really. I appreciate,” he choked on the word and had to force it out, “I appreciate you bringing them to me.” He glanced down at them again, gleaming in the light. “It helps.” 

Sensing that there wasn’t anything else to say, Scotty stood, awkward yet relieved. “You’re welcome.” And then, “We’ll find him… and don’t forget that he’d move heaven and Earth to get back to you.” When Leonard didn’t look inclined to reply, he let himself out. 

The door slid shut behind the engineer and McCoy was alone, but somehow less so than before. Softly, with a wry note that conveyed the absurdity of speaking aloud, Leonard said, “So Jim...” He ran a thumb over his ring, appreciating the perfectly smooth texture. “I guess you were ready for a real sense of permanence, not that we didn’t have that already. I wonder what you had in mind?” He leaned back, dropping his head to the cushion. “Were you going to ask me one quiet night in the observation lounge? When it’s just us and the stars? Or shore leave?” Shifting to be more comfortable, he continued to address the empty room, “Heaven help you if you’d planned to ask me on the bridge, in front of everyone. Probably open a goddamn shipwide comm as you did so.” Even that didn’t sound so bad, truth be told, not now. It was easy to conjure up an image of how it might have happened; Jim’s blue eyes bright with love and excitement.

Coming to a decision, he got off the sofa and opened a desk drawer filled with odds and ends. Rummaging through loose data chips, hypo allergy capsules, padd accessories, and alien trinkets, Leonard eventually drew out a thin black cord. Slipping the rings onto the string, he knotted it into a loop and pulled it over his head; tucking the makeshift necklace under his shirt. It made a slight bump under the fabric of his uniform; people might notice, but he decided he didn’t care. 

Leonard knew what he wanted to do.

 

********

The decision, in the moment, had been unexpectedly easy. The consequences were anything but.

A baby was not meant to be made in six weeks.

Muscles pulled apart and his spine tilted and his skin, oh god, it hurt. Clutching the rim of the toiled as he gasped and retched one morning, Leonard asked himself for the hundredth time what he was doing this for? A scrap of life on a monitor that was him and Jim. A scrap of life that might not make it; that might kill him; that might have to grow up without either father. It was stupidity and madness and weakness… _sentiment_ was something he’d sworn off long ago, yet something about James Kirk had brought it creeping inexorably back into his life. Leonard cursed. Vomited. Cursed again.

Breathing hurt, eating hurt, even his hair seemed to hurt. Hesitant to take a painkiller, much less a constant dose that would let him function like a normal human being, He was about ready to tell M’Benga to just put him in a coma until the whole damn thing was over one way or another. But that would mean the search for Jim would go on without him, and that was unacceptable. 

Two weeks later and his clothing didn’t fit right. He’d already requisitioned a larger medical tunic, which was now stretching tightly over his abdomen. At least the crew knew; he’d let the details leak out the week before, hoping to avoid a flurry of speculation. 

Leonard still wasn’t thinking of names; a name implied it was going to work.

Week four and he fainted on the bridge. It had been good news of all things that precipitated it. That and the fact that he could barely consume enough calories to keep up with the rapid growth. Spock had commed him to say they were approaching the next Hav'yhr relay station, and it was going to tell them which fork to take in the network. Like an idiot he’d run off without his morning nutritional booster, and when Chekov had looked up from his instrument panel and declared that the alien vessel was on course for the shorter of the two possible pursuit courses everything had gone a bit grey.

Spock managed to catch him before he hit the deck plating, and he woke up an unspecified amount of time later to find Uhura sitting in the chair next to his biobed, M’Benga hovering nearby.

Catching the change in his vitals, M’Benga approached the bed, dark eyes filled with sympathy as he softly said, “You’re pushing yourself hard, Len. Your body can’t keep up, and the mechanism that they use to accelerate growth seems to be putting additional strain on your system; I can see early signs of organ failure. I’ll switch the mix on these,” he brandished the forgotten hypo, “but I can only do so much.”

Leonard felt the proposed solution start to take shape; the foetus was approximately in its sixth month of development and while removal soon would not be ideal, it was viable. It was obvious, really, M’Benga must have considered it as well. They just had to work out how long to wait; how long his body could take the strain.

Clearing his throat, M’Benga continued, “Uhura and I have been reviewing their cultural and medical database to try and understand this more. It seems their approach to medicine is grounded in their culture and clan structure.”

Leonard sat up with a grunt, swinging his legs over the side of the biobed to face them more directly; this didn’t sound like the straightforward proposal he was expecting. He could sense something wasn’t being said. Looking between them, he eventually settled on, “Ny?” Her eyes were a little too bright when she met his gaze, as if she’d been crying at some point. He quickly glanced at his vital monitors and confirmed that nothing was amiss there; or, at least no more amiss than M’Benga had already explained. “What is it?”

Taking a breath to steady herself, she started to explain, “Life-taking does seem to be a fairly common practice, as does compensation with a clone or baby. When it is done in this manner, it is routine to accelerate the early growth-rate. There is, however, an idea that although the replacement is fair compensation, it is up to the recipient clan to decide whether they wish to integrate a replacement into their clan. The same manipulation that accelerates early growth also provides a mechanism to…” she stumbled over the word to use, “refuse compensation.”

M’Benga stepped in and softly said, “Early removal will simply terminate the foetus.”

Leonard felt the grav plating cycle in a sickening turn, and wondered why no one else seemed to have noticed. 

M’Benga continued, “Once it grows to term that cellular mechanism will shut itself down automatically and the foetus can be safely removed. The accelerated growth will continue for roughly another eight weeks, gradually slowing over the final week, at which point he’ll appear to be approximately a year old. Then normal human development should proceed.” Pressing a padd with the scan results and research into Leonard’s hands, he added, “It’s your choice, Len.”

Leonard nodded, mutely, and the other doctor walked away to give him some space. 

When Uhura made to follow, Leonard reached out and grabbed her hand. It was an impulsive gesture, but she seemed to understand as she moved to stand closer to the bed. After a moment, she simply swept him into a tight hug. 

Burying his face in her shoulder, Leonard took a shaky breath. She smelled faintly of exotic perfume and something with an undertone of spice that was probably Vulcan incense. 

“I can’t take it out.”

There was no question of his judgement in her tone, just a simple statement of fact as she replied: “It might kill you.”

“I know.” It was unfair, he knew, to put her on the spot, but he couldn’t resist the urge to ask, “If… If I don’t make it, and he does…”

She sensed the direction he was going and squeezed him more tightly, “I’ll make sure he’s okay. Spock too. We’ll...” She couldn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to.

He’d fainted four more times since then, and stopped looking at himself in the mirror. Even with M’Benga’s careful treatment, the fat was stripped off his frame even as his abdomen continued to expand, off-centre, as if someone had strapped a watermelon to him as a joke. His skin was sallow, with the yellowish cast of jaundice just barely kept under control. Nyota and Spock had been wonderful, if he was honest, keeping him distracted during their off-duty hours without mothering him. 

After a scan in the fifth week showed the foetus was faring far better than Leonard, he’d walked out of the med bay with the realization that he’d better start planning. Suddenly relieved that M’Benga had repeatedly refused to take over the CMO suite, he set about converting it to a nursery adjacent to the med bay. It was a private project; he’d made it clear that there wouldn’t be any celebration or _showers_ or whatever else people did when they had babies until he was actually holding a living child in his arms. Instead, he requisitioned the bare minimum: a crib, bedding, changing mat… it made for a utilitarian addition to the corner of the bedroom area. Three days later he added a small mobile over the crib. Joanna used to gurgle and grab at hers when she was a baby, waiting to be picked up in the morning. Reaching out with a finger, he set the model ships and comets into motion, a moment of weakness where he splayed fingers over the protrusion on his side, murmuring, “Your daddy’s going to try to tell you space is the _best_ place to be, but promise me you’ll want to spend some time with your feet on the ground.” 

Scotty, Sulu and Chekov had thrown themselves into the search for Jim, and Uhura had spent countless hours poring over the Hav'yhr cultural database to work out the precise way to explain a human perspective on the situation. She caught him in the mess hall one afternoon and placed her hand over his on the table, giving it a squeeze. “We’re going to get the captain, and I’m not going to let them take their compensation back either.” Leonard had gone to Jim’s quarters that night and wrapped himself up in the blanket that had previously belonged to Christopher Pike.

Spock found him there the next morning. Under normal circumstances Leonard would have been mortified to be caught so out of sorts, but as nothing had been normal for the last month he simply sat on the sofa in yesterday’s uniform and pulled the blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

Scrutinizing the doctor for a moment, the Vulcan began, softly, “I sent a proposal to Starfleet two weeks ago.” Leonard raised an eyebrow to show he was listening, and Spock continued, “We received a reply this morning.”

Moving to sit, stiffly, in Jim’s desk chair, the acting captain continued, “Enterprise will be added to the upcoming pilot program of more family-oriented ships, as a means of testing new operating procedures to inform the development of the next generation of starships slated for launch over the next five to ten years.” Leonard’s confusion must have been clear, as Spock continued, “Following the Marcus-Khan affair and the public’s refocused interest on humanitarian and peacekeeping priorities, coupled with planned three to five year deep space missions, Starfleet has begun to consider allowing serving families with young children to live together on front line starships. Subject to approval, parents can be in science, basic ships operations, medical… and command.” The hint of a wry smile tugged at the corners of Spock’s mouth. “Transparently, the destruction of Vulcan and attack on San Francisco has left a vacuum in the normal Starfleet hierarchy and given the challenges of the last few years the admiralty cannot afford to leave any talent trapped planet-side.” 

Leonard hugged himself, trying to understand what he’d just been told. He’d assumed that his career in the black was over; and that it remained to be seen whether Jim would join him on Earth or see out the rest of their mission. It had been a nagging fact at the back of his mind for weeks, ruthlessly pushed back during idle moments. Unwilling to let hope take over so quickly, he retorted, “What about while I’m on duty? I can’t ask the crew to _babysit_ for me.”

“We are to convert one guest suite to crew quarters: four bunks. We can take on additional specialized support staff at Yorktown upon our return to Federation space. Additionally, the smaller aft observation lounge that is least-used is to be converted to a multi-use care facility if further children are brought on board. Until then, I believe the CMO suite and shared areas should suffice for one child?”

Mouth suddenly dry, Leonard grasped at practicalities. “What if there’s an emergency? Sometimes Jim and I are tied up for days. What if I have to treat an outbreak...”

“Then the son of the captain and chief medical officer will be cared for by his de-facto family: the crew.”

Blanket falling off his shoulders as he waved a hand in the air, Leonard growled, “Dammit, Spock, it isn’t safe out here!”

Softly, with careful control despite the emotion that must have underlied the observation, Spock replied, “As we have seen: being on one’s homeworld is no guarantee of safety.”

Leonard’s objection evaporated at that, and he swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. “No. It isn’t, is it?”

Standing, in that same soft tone, Spock said, “If your preference, truly, would be to return to Earth I will arrange it, but if not, then the right thing to do is to remain.”

Leonard tugged the blanket back around his shoulders, considering the Vulcan’s words. If all had gone to plan, Jim would have spent the first four months of his life on the Kelvin. Babies were occasionally born on starships, and some science vessels did have infants and toddlers on them; the real change would be not just permitting them, but accommodating them staying longer. He wondered just what Spock had meant by “young children,” but couldn’t quite bring himself to ask.

Turning in the doorway, Spock added, “I know I speak for Nyota and the rest of the bridge crew when I say we hope you choose to remain.” The door closed behind him before Leonard could offer a reply. He sat, dumbfounded, for several minutes, then swung his legs up onto the couch with a grunt, stretching out as he considered Spock’s suggestion.

Three days later and he was on bed rest. It was _intolerable_. Leonard couldn’t sit up because he got lightheaded; if he lay down on his back it was hard to breathe and acid crawled its way up his throat; if he lay on his left side he couldn’t support his belly, even with pillows; and if he lay on his right side it wasn’t long before the pressure on his body, with any cushion of fat stripped away, created a deep ache where he pressed against the mattress. Even with M’Benga’s safest drugs his back spasmed abominably in any position. Through it all, he could feel himself getting weaker; trying to create life without enough substance at his disposal, and slowly poisoned by whatever mechanism was causing the accelerated growth. He slept through most of it now: snatches of discomfort and alertness that blended into uneasy dozing. People seemed to flit in and out: M’Benga, Chapel, Uhura and Spock in particular, but others as well. He tried to talk when they were there, but after a few minutes of conversation sentences had a tendency to trail off into mumbled nonsense.

They counted down the days. Added another, just to be sure. Checked scans. Re-checked scans. He could be alert enough to give his own opinion on that, if timed carefully.

Eventually, there was nothing left to check and M’Benga was standing over him brandishing a hypo, apologetically. “I need to put you right under, Len. There’s a lot to repair.”

While he hadn’t been looking forward to the uncomfortable pressure of M’Benga rummaging around in his insides, it was a disappointment. Trying to put on a brave face, he offered a weak smile and said, “Make sure his Uncle Spock and Auntie Ny are the first to hold him.”

In the background, Leonard thought he saw a flicker of a surprised smile cross the half-Vulcan’s features.

He swam back to consciousness to the sound of someone humming softly, tunefully; Uhura, he realized as he opened his eyes.

A blur above him said, “Doctor?” 

He smiled; he could be on his deathbed and Spock would be unlikely to call him Leonard. “Spock?”

The humming trailed off and two figures swam into focus: Spock and Uhura… and a small bundle clasped to her chest.

M’Benga was there too, quickly moving to raise the head of the bed. “It went well, Leonard. You should feel much better.”

Leonard’s stomach felt bruised, but flat; he resisted the urge to lift his shirt and examine the newly repaired skin. Instead, he looked hopefully at Uhura.

She treated him to a watery smile, moving to place the bundle in his arms with a soft, “He’s beautiful.”

He was _tiny_. Leonard couldn’t remember when he’d last seen a newborn, and the Gorn octuplets didn’t count. Unfocused blue eyes blinked open and he felt his own eyes water. He had a son.

Allowing a long moment between father and son, Spock waited until Leonard glanced up at them to softly ask, “Have you selected a name?”

Leonard smiled; finally saying it aloud for the first time: “Christopher James Kirk-McCoy. When we’re telling him off for charging into things head first it will be a good reminder of where he gets it from.”

Uhura laughed; the first real laugh he could remember hearing since Jim had been taken.

Reaching out, Spock ran a finger over a tiny hand that had escaped the blanket as he replied, “An apt choice.”

Christopher grew like a weed, but slept normally for an infant of his apparent age. The voracious appetite: Leonard wasn’t sure whether that was from the rapid growth or simply the product of being Jim Kirk’s son. After sleepless nights worrying about how appropriate neural development was supposed to work without the usual cadence of environmental stimulation, developmental milestones were all hit according to expectations. Above expectations, even. In his head, Jim’s voice, “Did you expect anything less from _our son_.”

Leonard was in love. 

He pressed kisses into the creases of tiny palms at bathtime, and watched the fine veins in an eyelid flutter during naptime, and relished the comforting weight of a small body in a sling when he was finally well enough to do a partial shift in the med bay. And if he was still too exhausted to do everything he felt he _should_ be doing, at least he knew he was doing his best.

But he missed Jim over the following uncertain weeks. Terribly. At night, rolled up in Pike’s blanket the thought that they wouldn’t be able to find Jim made it hard to breathe. He pulled himself together during the day, but it was still hard to eat and at times he caught M’Benga’s lips thinning when consulting Leonard’s chart.

When Christopher first smiled up at him and, with something Leonard told himself was real understanding, said, “Papa,” his momentary delight had turned into a cold fear Jim would never get to be “Dada.” He printed out three more still images of Jim that night. Holding them up in front of his son, he said: “Dada. Dada. Dada.” Christopher had picked one up, scrutinized it, then brought it to his mouth and gnawed on a corner. 

Leonard didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

**************

Fourteen weeks. Leonard pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s head, ignoring the mashed bananas smeared onto his arm in return. They were eating breakfast, or rather, Christopher was painting available surfaces with banana and occasionally placing some in his mouth, while Leonard drank a cup of coffee and ignored the scrambled eggs cooling by his elbow.

Jim had been gone for fourteen weeks, and Christopher’s accelerated growth had finally ceased, to everyone’s relief. Leonard estimated the boy’s development at roughly equal to a year old, give or take.

He could sense Spock watching them from the other side of the table, and forced himself to look up. “You said there was news?”

“We believe the correct vessel is on long-range sensors. It is currently in orbit around a planet identified as the principle hub of the Ar’Dal clan, which would be consistent with our search parameters. At maximum warp we can reach them in nine point six hours; Lieutenant Uhura and I are ready to enter into negotiations for the captain’s return.”

Leonard didn’t realise he was holding Christopher just a little too tightly until the boy squirmed and gave a squawk of protest, banana temporarily forgotten.

In the end, after all the weeks of fear and uncertainty, it was surprisingly straightforward. As Leonard sat just outside of camera range, fists clenched so tightly little crescents of red blossomed in his palms, Uhura launched into a detailed explanation of human family ties, individual rights, and social norms that didn’t let up until the Hav'yhr captain began to give little jerks of his eyestalks that was their equivalent of nodding. When the subject of Christopher was raised, Leonard ground his jaw so tightly he nearly broke a tooth. Spock took over the argument then, and for once in his life the doctor was grateful for Vulcan logic.

Leonard held his breath as the Hav'yhr responded: they indicated that Kirk was uncooperative, and as such not integrating into their clan, expressed dismay that there had been a misunderstanding, and hoped that future negotiations would not be jeopardized. An impolite response was on the tip of Leonard’s tongue when the alien captain continued: they would send arrangements to transport Jim back shortly.

A buzzing took hold in Leonard’s ears, and he didn’t hear how the conversation wrapped up. It must have gone well, as when the screen went blank Uhura was smiling.

“Come on,” she gently took Leonard by the upper arm, “Let’s get down and welcome him home.”

Leonard didn’t remember the walk down to the transporter bay; just an impression of Spock’s hand hovering near the small of his back to keep him upright and moving forward.

Scotty was already there when they arrived, saying something about coordinates being received.

There was a whirl of light and then… Jim. The captain’s hair was overly-long, brushing against his collar, and the beard he was sporting was unkempt. Leonard’s eyes darted down and up. Jim’s dress uniform was rumpled and had a few small stains, but was otherwise intact.

There wasn’t a scratch on him. He hadn’t even lost weight.

“Bones!” Launching himself off the pad, the captain swept Leonard into a tight hug.

Jim smelled like sweat and Hav'yhr incense and something so reassuringly _Jim_ that Leonard couldn’t do anything but bury his nose in the side of the other man’s neck and inhale deeply.

As his arms closed around the doctor, a spark of unease threatened to overshadow Jim’s elation. Bones was _thin_. Not just thin, but frail, as if the muscle had been pared away along with what little fat the other man had carried on his frame. Tightening his hold, Jim closed his eyes and inhaled the familiar scent of aftershave and medical antiseptic; plus a sweet undertone he couldn’t quite place. 

The mysterious scent was forgotten when Leonard mumbled, “Welcome home, Jim.” 

Jim barked out something that might have been a laugh, might have been a sob, before composing himself quickly. The duty ensign was still in the room, perched next to Scotty by the transporter controls.

Jim wanted to go to the bridge and thank every member of his command crew; to sit in his chair, and be in control again; and, more importantly, to take Bones back to his quarters and not emerge until the next day. Perhaps the day after.

Predictably, the doctor had other ideas. Eventually pulling back from the embrace, Leonard wrapped an arm around Jim’s shoulders and started to guide him towards the door, “Let’s get you checked out.”

Scotty, Spock and Uhura trailed them to the med bay, clustering around the biobed as Leonard began to run a battery of scans on their captain. Leonard’s comm pinged, and he ignored it in favor of poring over the first scan results. Jim was ever so slightly anemic, but otherwise well. The others were talking; Jim recounting the affair from his perspective, but there was a rushing in Leonard’s ears that made it hard to focus on anything but the scan results at hand. His comm pinged again, so Leonard stepped into his office and away from prying ears. Opening a channel to his quarters resulted in a yeoman who was normally a favored carer stammering apologetically, “I’m so sorry, sir, but he’s just not settling tonight.” Judging from the fierce howling in the background, _just not settling_ was an understatement.

Christopher had been fractious all day. Barely napping earlier and clingy when Leonard tried to leave his sight in the afternoon. It wasn’t surprising; the entire ship was steeped in a nervous excitement, and he didn’t want to imagine what maelstrom of emotions he’d been projecting.

Glancing back to the biobed, Leonard could see Spock and Uhura deeply engaged in conversation with Jim. Motioning M’Benga over, Leonard quietly asked him to take over and slipped out of the med bay.

Fourteen weeks. Jim couldn’t believe it had been that long: the figure seemed both too short and too long. As he recounted his experience to Spock and Uhura, he caught them casting sideways glances at each other that he couldn’t quite read. 

There wasn’t, in truth, much to explain. He’d regained consciousness on the Hav'yhr vessel some time after the banquet; the alien captain had resisted his demands to be returned to the Enterprise, saying they were already light-years away; moreover, they didn’t seem to even understand Jim’s objections. Their interactions had reached an impasse, with the Hav'yhr seeming to expect Jim to simply settle into life on the alien vessel, and Jim refusing to do any such thing. After his third attempt to sabotage their slipstream technology, Jim had been confined to quarters. It was as if they had thought him mentally ill, and in need of protection from himself. There had been an ominous promise of therapy once on their homeworld. It had been frustrating, boring, and he’d have to admit being scared at times, but aside from the confinement he hadn’t been mistreated.

When the story wound down, Jim was surprised to see M’Benga rather than McCoy step up to the bed. “Well, Captain, you’re in good health. I’d like to give you a hypo with some vitamin supplements, but aside from that you’re ready to be released to your quarters. I’d like you to take two days off duty, just to get used to being back.”

It was unexpected freedom from responsibility, but Jim wasn’t going to complain when there were so many things he’d been itching to do during his confinement. Finding the rest of the med bay empty, he almost asked about Bones, but held his tongue; he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to anyone but his partner about whatever was going on. 

With a spring in his step that came from sheer relief, Jim allowed Spock and Uhura to walk him to his quarters before bidding them good evening, barely noting the sidelong glance they shared before continuing down the corridor.

The door slid open at the press of his thumb and he stepped inside with a smile. “Bones?” 

The lights were off. A glance at the chrono in the med bay had confirmed it wasn’t that late, ship’s time, but remembering the thin frame in the transporter room, Jim called out, “Bones? Are you in bed?”

He wasn’t. 

Strangely, the soft blanket that _always_ stayed folded on the back of the sofa when it wasn’t being used was missing. There didn’t seem to be any of Leonard’s padds on their shared desk either.

Unease blossomed in his gut as Jim realised there was the absence of scent that rooms in starships took on when they had been vacant for some time; a product of the internal filtration system recycling the air many times over. Searching more thoroughly revealed that Leonard’s preferred shaving kit was missing, as were his Ole Miss sweats. Something twisted low in Jim’s belly: confusion, worry… had Bones moved out?

Jim sat down heavily on the sofa and something caught his eye: a blue ring, oval in shape and larger than a bracelet, stood out against the grey flooring. It appeared to have fallen under the table and been forgotten. Snagging the object, he frowned to find it was a firm but slightly malleable material. He’d never seen it before, and couldn’t imagine what it might be.

Setting the ring on the desk, Jim pulled up the location of McCoy in the computer and was surprised to find the doctor in his own quarters. Leonard never used that room unless there was good reason: Jim hardly thought his rescue counted.

Frowning, he resisted the urge to run after the other man in favor of making himself feel more normal again: showering away days of sweat, shaving off the beard, pulling on clean clothes; he couldn’t do anything about his untidy hair, but he combed it into some semblance of order. Checking the computer again, Jim found the doctor still in the CMO suite adjacent to the med bay. With one last glance at the now more familiar face in the mirror, he set off to find his partner.

Making his way through the ship, he was gratified to see smiles and excited murmurs from his crew when they spotted their captain; nothing in their expressions indicated anything was grievously amiss. Surely they wouldn’t look so relaxed if something were seriously wrong with their CMO. Maybe Bones had been ill? Or ran himself ragged while Jim was away?

Pressing his thumb to the door of the CMO suite, it obediently slid open. That in itself was a relief. “Bones? You disappeared.” Jim smiled winningly, yet uncertainly, as he stepped further into the room. 

The lights seemed to be dim, but not off. The scent of the room was different; that faintly sweet undertone from earlier more present. Leonard was half-reclined on the small sofa in the sitting area, a blanket bundled in his lap. It was Pike’s blanket; the one Boyce had given him after the admiral’s death. It _always_ stayed in Jim’s quarters, as if by an unspoken agreement. Leonard looked up, but didn’t move to stand and greet the other man now that they were alone.

This was not the welcome home Jim had expected. Feeling increasingly uncertain, he asked, “Why didn’t you stay?”

The blanket seemed to shift by itself and Jim stepped backwards in surprise.

Dropping his eyes, Leonard reached into the nest of blankets and drew what appeared to be a _baby_ upwards, planting a kiss on one cheek before settling the small form against his chest and shoulder. The child turned into the embrace, nuzzling the side of Leonard’s neck as if this was an everyday occurrence.

The captain’s jaw dropped and he blinked in surprise. The scene didn’t change. Weakly, he asked, “What the hell is this?” His voice sounded oddly high pitched to his own ears. 

Keeping his tone even, Leonard softly replied, “Your son, Jim.”

Jim’s affect went blank, gaze shuttering and lips thinning as he said, “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” then turned on his heel and strode out of the room. The door shut behind him with a faint hiss.

It was not how Leonard had imagined the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Your son, Jim._ ”

Jim had been uncooperative once the Hav'yhr made clear they had no intention of returning him to Enterprise: name, rank, serial number… the occasional escape attempt. Now he wished he’d asked more questions when the Hav'yhr had informed him that he’d been “life-taken” and compensation had been provided.

The cold reality of that was dawning now: they’d cloned him, the bastards, and Bones…

Jim scrubbed a hand through his hair, tugging hard enough to bring a sharp bite of pain. Bones had decided to call it his _son_. That was totally fucked up. He couldn’t... they couldn’t… 

Jim didn’t realize he’d thrown the glass until it shattered against the portal, shards flying over the desk and chairs. 

He _couldn’t_ be a father.

They could send it back to Earth, leave it with a good family while they continued the five year mission. Starfleet could sort out a suitable adoptive arrangement. They owed him that much, at least. 

And yet, something about the way Leonard had held the small body wrapped in Pike’s blanket, had dropped a kiss on the child’s face, spoke of an attachment that made Jim uneasy.

He’d grown into being “Uncle Jim” to Joanna; this was completely different. 

This made him want to be sick.

He’d wanted to be back with every fiber of his body. Imagined it. Yearned for it. On the long days locked away on the Hav'yhr vessel only two things had kept him sane: exercising until his limbs gave out, and the thought of what it would be like to be back with Bones. How it would feel to hold him again. To hide away in their quarters and lock out the world for a few days. To be back on the bridge, standing side by side. And, if Scotty’s project went well, to bring about a sense of permanence with the other man, and the life they loved.

Bones who kept them all alive; Bones who charged right into things; Bones with his fucking martyr complex; Bones the natural father… Fuck this. They had the five year mission. They were in _deep space_. 

And now there was a clone of him that Bones wanted them to play parent to? Fuck that too. Jim scrubbed his hands up over his face and onto the crown of his head, tugging at his hair; he couldn’t do this.

He’d sworn he would never...

The shards of glass scattered across his desk glinted dully and Jim sat down heavily on his sofa, dropping his head between his knees.

He nearly did vomit then.

Jim was still slumped on the sofa an hour later, thoughts roiling, when his computer terminal pinged: a personal communication, the particular note indicated he’d flagged the sender as a priority contact. He crossed the room, avoiding shards of glass, and powered on the screen, transferring the message to a padd and returning to the sofa. He didn’t want to look, but in equal measure knew he should. 

He hesitated so long that the padd screen went dark. Grimly, he powered it back on and frowned in surprise: it wasn’t from Bones.

It was a message from Uhura with a datapack attached. The note was short: _Welcome home_. Jim wondered if she knew he was alone in his quarters. Reluctantly, he opened the attachment to find it was entirely pictures. The first one launched itself onto the screen: Bones standing on the bridge in his medical uniform, the blue fabric stretched tightly over his abdomen as he seemed to be talking with Sulu and Chekov. Jim frowned; enlarged the photo. The thickening of the other man’s middle was unmissable, and the exact opposite of the frail frame he’d hugged in the transporter bay. 

What the fuck had happened while he was gone? _Your son, Jim._ Had Bones… Jim’s hand trembled and he contemplated swiping to the next photo or simply closing the message. 

His fingertip brushed the screen and revealed Bones again, this time off duty and even larger. One hand absently resting on the right side of his stomach as he appeared to contemplate his next move in a game of chess against Spock. The doctor was going to lose, Jim could see, but seemed relaxed in the photo. Almost happy, despite a pinched look to the skin around his eyes. Jesus fucking Christ. They hadn’t just handed over a clone… Jim couldn’t quite comprehend the implications of the photo. Numbly, he swiped to the next one.

Bones in the med bay, propped up on a pile of pillows. There were dark bruises under the doctor’s eyes, but he was clutching a bundle close to his chest and smiling at the camera. A second photo from a slightly different angle revealed the bundle was a baby, and a newborn at that. The look on Bones’ face was tenderness and relief and sorrow and so much more all at once. The next photo was a close-up of the baby. Bright blue eyes were open but unfocused and an impossibly small hand waved to the camera. Bones again, shirtless and possibly asleep, the baby stretched out on his chest: bare skin to to bare skin. Jim could count every single rib in the doctor’s chest. What the Hell had happened while he was gone?

The baby seemed to grow, noticeably, in the next photo: still small but somehow less fragile as Bones held him in front of a cake, surrounded by the senior staff. It looked like there were gifts, and Spock of all people seemed to be holding a small furry object. A stuffed sehlat? It had to be, given the fangs. Then a flurry of photos of each member of the senior staff holding the baby, and several other crewmen besides. The features… looked like him, but not _exactly_ like him. He’d seen his own baby pictures; the whole world had. A strange idea took hold: what if it wasn’t a clone? Another swipe revealed Bones again, still looking frail and pinched, but wearing a sling of some sort as he read a chart in the med bay. Even from a distance, the worried furrow in the doctor’s brow was unmissable and Jim ached to have been able to smooth a hand over it.

The next photo was the baby sitting by himself, wearing a yellow and gold top and black leggings. They’d set him in the captain’s chair. Jim felt something twist inside him at the slightly wet smile, the shape of Leonard’s face that was starting to become more apparent under the baby fat. A soft thatch of blonde hair covered his head, and even on the tiny hands the long fingers of a surgeon were apparent. The eyes, hell, babies often had blue eyes, but those eyes were _Jim’s_. 

They said he’d been gone fourteen weeks. This photo, and the baby he’d seen in Bones’ arms earlier, was not just a couple months old. He didn’t know much about infants, but surely this child, his son, Jim corrected himself, was closer to a year old.

Frowning, he pulled out his comm, pressing a contact and asking as soon as the line opened, “How fast is he growing?”

There was a startled pause, then Spock replied, “Perhaps we should discuss these matters in your quarters?”

Weakly, his voice sounding thin to his own ears, Jim replied, “I think that’s a good idea.”

This was not the homecoming he’d imagined at all.

The door to his quarters opened a minute later, but Jim didn’t look up from the last photograph.

Spock crossed the room slowly, taking in the desk covered with scattered fragments of glass. Stopping when a piece crunched under his own boot, the Vulcan asked, “Are you well, Jim?”

The captain almost said yes, because words like _well_ and _fine_ cover a whole multitude of sins, but if he was going to ask Spock to cut the crap it seemed only fair he did so as well. “I don’t know, Spock.”

Instead of answering the question that had called him to the captain’s quarters, the Vulcan instead offered one of his own: “My understanding is most humans assume they will procreate. Did you not intend to at some point?”

“At some point?” Jim huffed, “Maybe when I was in my forties. Maybe never. I can’t say I had a real role model, there, Spock, except for what not to do.” There was no judgement in the other officer’s gaze, so he lost the flippant attitude and admitted, “Honestly, no.” He’d never said the words aloud; not even to Leonard. “There were kids on Tarsus. They died. When I was younger I knew I was a fuck-up, and I wasn’t going to pass that on. I made sure no one ever expected commitment from me, and definitely not family.” He hadn’t really known what family could mean until after Khan. “Then after…” _I died_ hung unsaid between them, “... and we figured things out between us: Bones had Joanna already, and we had the Enterprise. We never considered wanting more.”

The silence stretched after what could only be described as a rambling confession. Eventually, Spock tipped a desk chair to ensure it was free of glass and sat down. 

Sensing the Vulcan was about to answer his original question, “Don’t…” Jim held up a hand, feeling sick to his stomach, “Don’t tell me his name.” Because no matter what he felt about the whole mess, only Bones should do that.

With a small furrow in his brow that was the Vulcan equivalent of a deep frown, Spock replied, “The Hav'yhr accelerate the early development of their offspring; the foetus was full term at six weeks, and accelerated growth continued until recently. Dr. McCoy estimates the child’s development as roughly equivalent to a year old.” 

“Is he okay?”

Spock correctly guessed who was being asked after: “Dr. McCoy is continuing to regain his strength, but is otherwise well.”

Relief washed over Jim at that, and he let himself feel it for a moment before continuing, “And it’s not a clone of me?”

“No, the Hav'yhr combined your genetic material with that of the doctor, however, in a more direct manner than is typical in humans. Aside from some striking resemblances to his parents, Doctor M’Benga assured us there will be no negative side effects.”

Striking resemblances was putting it mildly, given what Jim could see in the photos. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he asked, “Were you planning to drop them at Yorktown, or is a transport to Earth already arranged?” That was the crux of it, really, because Jim had belatedly recognized the expression on his partner’s face as he kissed the child’s cheek: love.

“While Doctor McCoy’s plans are not known to me, I have observed him become more receptive to the idea of keeping the child on the Enterprise. I should inform you that given new Starfleet policy, that has become a viable option.”

Raise the child on the Enterprise? Bones’ own words came back to Jim: disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence. “Not going to happen.”

“I do not believe that is your sole decision, Jim.” Spock tilted his head to one side and regarded the captain, “However, if you continue on that course of action I do not doubt your ability to drive Doctor McCoy away.”

He was right, of course. Jim chewed the inside of his cheek, unwilling to concede the point aloud.

When the captain continued to sit, stone-faced and silent, the Vulcan stood and took his leave without another word.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim didn’t sleep that night. He lay in bed, pretending, as the time slowly passed, giving up every hour or so and reading a report from his absence in failed effort to try to feel tired. By 0600 he was forced to conclude that the ship was running smoothly, and he had no idea what he was going to do. At 0700 he rolled out of bed, head swimming from the sleepless night. Pulling on a uniform despite being off duty, Jim relished the sensation of his gold top, rank insignia glinting at his wrist.

After fourteen long weeks of confinement, the mess hall was both enticing and frankly intimidating. Catching himself stalling over putting on his boots, Jim frowned. If he had Bones beside him, it would be fine, but alone… Making a coffee in his quarters instead, he swept up the glass from the night before and put the desk area back to rights. Pouring a second cup and finding a protein supplement bar in a drawer, he settled in front of the console and waded through further reports from the last three and a half months, finally finding the policy changes Spock had mentioned.

The initial proposal particular to Enterprise had the Vulcan’s special kind of meddling all over it: a sensible proposal grounded in an ironclad rationale. Jim read further, forehead wrinkling. Parents could be from most divisions, except for tactical, security and engineering; he thought of Sulu immediately, but Ben wasn’t Starfleet and the pilot program was restricted to children under five years of age, or humanoid equivalent. He supposed it was meant to avoid the need to offer formal schooling. The general brief segued into orders specific to Enterprise: provided someone took Starfleet up on the offer, he was to convert one guest suite to crew quarters, and prepare to take on board additional personnel. 

Jim felt a weight settle over him and he frowned into his coffee; he’d never had children on the ship before. Not outside of spacedock, anyway. The adults… it was hard enough at times, but they knew what they signed up for. Now they were going to make him responsible for children as well. On top of too much stress and too little sleep it was hard to comprehend.

Rubbing his eyes, Jim pulled up the duty roster and found that Leonard had just come on shift and was slated to work until late afternoon. In fact, it looked like everyone who would want to talk to him was on duty. Feeling suddenly adrift, he wandered back into the bedroom and took off his uniform, pulling on a t-shirt and sweats instead. He’d tried to stay in shape while in captivity: pushing himself with whatever stretches and calisthenics he could think of that fit inside the quarters they’d confined him to. But running, that had been impossible…

Jim made his way down to the gym quickly, smiling and nodding his thanks in response to the murmurs of, “Welcome home, Captain,” that followed him through the corridors. The gym was largely empty when he arrived, everyone off shift was either heading to bed or just finishing breakfast. The treadmill in the corner whirred to life and offered his usual programs; selecting one at random, Jim shoved a pair of buds in his ears and a classical rock bassline began to thud in time with his paces. Jim ran until the program ended, then started another and continued to run until he staggered and nearly fell, the machine stopping automatically when it sensed the faltering gait. Stepping down to the floor, he was relieved to see the two ensigns across the room hadn’t noticed the near accident.

Swiping a towel over his dripping face, Jim considered: it was barely ten o’clock and he was in equal parts exhausted and infused with a nervous energy. Returning to his quarters, he dialled the temperature up and showered until steam curled thickly in the small bathroom. Suddenly dizzy, he slapped the controls to shut off the water and stumbled out, gripping the side of the sink and breathing hard. Slowly, the ventilation system cleared the steam and the mirror unfogged.

Jim almost didn’t recognize himself: overly long hair slicked back, but starting to curl at the ends as it dripped, dark smudges under his eyes. He looked awful. He needed Bones.

Wandering back into his sleeping area he pulled on a fresh pair of sweats and flopped down on the bed, shirtless. The last time he’d truly slept in his quarters, Bones had been there too. He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow on the doctor’s side. It didn’t smell like anyone anymore.

Jim lay like that for a while, leg muscles twitching from overuse. Eventually, he sat up and rolled off the bed, wandering back into the main room to select a real paperback book from his shelf and collapsing onto the couch. He read for an hour, pausing for another protein bar and coffee which only made his stomach feel tight with nausea. _Your son, Jim_.

“Damn it,” he growled, without any real heat in the words. Pressing fingers to his eyes hard enough that sparks danced behind his lids, he repeated, tiredly, “Damn it.”

He tried to take a nap. It didn’t work. After half an hour sprawled in the dark he thumbed the lights back on and started taking his upper body through a routine of crunches, push-ups and planks that he’d used to pass the time on the Hav'yhr vessel. He worked his body until he collapsed out of a plank, landing hard on his stomach with a gasp. Jim pressed his face to the cool deck plating. _Damn it_.

The Hav'yhr had a different concept of time, but it had probably been well over thirty hours since he’d slept, and without stims he was feeling it. Hauling himself back into the main room he settled at his desk, browsing the reports that had come in during alpha shift. Nothing urgent, just the steady buzz of normal ship’s business. Spock had set a course back to charted Federation space, estimating that they were sixteen weeks from Yorktown. 

Six o’clock in the evening found him slumped in his desk chair, aching all over and feeling vaguely ill. He tried to read another report, but the words didn’t seem to stay in place: mixing up from line to line so the sentences didn’t make sense. 

Eventually, he gave up and wandered around his quarters like a caged animal: from his bookshelf to the desk, to the sofa and back again. It was a habit he’d formed on the Hav’yhr ship without realizing it was happening. Eventually checking himself in the mirror revealed that the smudges under his eyes had only darkened. 

It was exhaustion that guided his feet, that and desperation. If he’d been any more rested he’d have gone with a plan, but as it was he simply made his way through the corridors with his head swimming, a refrain of _Bones, Bones, Bones_ plodding along with his feet. 

Exhausted, Jim keyed in his code and barely waited for the door to slide open before he said, “I want you, Bones.” Standing just inside the door, a sleepy child tucked to his chest, Leonard’s gaze flicked up and down the other man. There was a surprised pause and Jim realized that hadn’t come out quite right. “Not for that,” the fumble got him a snort, at least, so he tried to continue, “I mean, that too, but I’ve missed you for so long. I didn’t know if I could make it back and it was _fucking awful_. I need you, Bones. Please come home. We can talk about what to do with,” he waved his hand at the child without quite looking at it, “but I want you to come home.”

Leonard sighed, Jesus. Taking a step back from the door, he allowed the other man into the room while maintaining a measure of distance. “I’m still here, Jim, but it’s not just about me anymore.”

It was a rejection, of a sort. That much Jim could understand. “But, Bones…” There were _solutions_ here. Children were left on Earth all the time. _He’d_ been left on Earth.

Leonard’s eyes narrowed, as if reading Jim’s mind. Softly, but firmly, he said, “It’s not just about the two of us. Come here when you’re okay with that. _If_ you’re okay with that. If not, don’t bother.” After fourteen weeks of fear and hope and wanting, the doctor couldn’t believe his own words. Christopher squirmed, reaching up and managing to grab the cord around Leonard’s neck and tug, the rings clicking together as they popped free from his shirt and settled against his collarbone.

Something stuttered to a halt in Jim’s brain with a groan of _Scotty_. He watched, frozen, as Leonard disentangled the small hand with a practiced motion, dropping the rings back down the front of his shirt and smoothing his collar into place, gently soothing the sleepy child as he did so.

Reluctantly, Leonard looked up to meet Jim’s eyes, unsure what he’d find. The captain was haggard; worse than the day before. He felt his resolve give slightly with the realization that Jim was both exhausted and scared, even if the captain didn’t quite recognize the emotion himself. The reaction to Christopher the night before had been bad, to put it mildly, and Leonard was forced to admit he didn’t have a clue what could be going through the other man’s mind. “Stay here.” Without waiting for a reply, he carried Christopher into the bedroom, tucking him into his crib and soothing a whimpered protest with a gentle hand.

Returning to the main room Leonard found Jim had remained standing near the door, tension radiating off the captain’s frame as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. In the low light his expression was almost unreadable, save for the three deep lines creasing his forehead. 

Standing on the other side of the room and pressing his free hand over the lump in his shirt, Leonard asked, “What did this mean to you, Jim?”

Everything. Jim’s thoughts skittered like a stone skipping on a pond. _Everything_. 

Leonard must have seen something in the other man’s eyes, as instead of waiting for a reply, he asked, “So what are you so afraid of?”

Jim swallowed around the lump in his throat, and croaked, “What did you think I’d do, Bones? Be thrilled?” They hadn’t discussed this, dammit. It wasn’t _fair_.

Clenching a hand into a fist to avoid crossing his arms, Leonard replied, “You’re so good with Jo.”

“That’s different.” Jim’s eyes were flat, like the surface of a pond under a cloudy sky.

“Why?”

“She’s…” Jim paused, licking his lips while he tried to put it into words. “She’s _yours_ , Bones. She’s got your eyes and your face and that way her eyes crinkle when she’s up to mischief is all you. She was already a part of your life, from the day I met you. And you love her.” More softly, he mumbled, “How could I not too?”

“He’s _ours_ , Jim.” Leonard took three quick steps to his desk and returned with a holo, holding it up in front of the other man. Christopher was beaming at the camera from what looked like Nyota’s arms. Again, despite the rounding of baby-fat the features were unmistakable: a thatch of blonde hair, long fingers, the shape of Leonard’s face and Jim’s own blue eyes. “Don’t take whatever you’re scared of out on him.” 

Jim shook his head, as if trying to negate the truth that it _was_ fear he could feel coiling low in his gut.

More softly, Leonard added, “You’re a better man than that, Jim.”

Jim made an involuntary noise in his throat: half negation, half something more choked.

“Christ,” Leonard scrubbed a hand through his hair, then closed the distance between them, setting down the holo and opening his arms as he said, “Come here.”

Jim leaned into the embrace, tucking his face into the side of Leonard’s neck and unable to suppress an involuntary shudder when the doctor’s arms closed tightly around him. _This_ was what he’d missed. He inhaled the scent of Leonard and the sweet undertone that he now knew was unique to his son, only dimly aware his eyes seemed to be watering. He pressed his face more firmly into Leonard’s neck, gasping a breath as something twisted low in his gut.

Leonard pulled back far enough to grip the other man by his elbows, searching Jim’s face as he said, “Dammit, Jim. When the hell did you last sleep?”

Weakly, slightly wetly, Jim replied, “The bed was too big.”

Eyebrow raising, fingers twitching as if they wanted to be holding a med scanner, Leonard asked, “You been eating?”

The thin frame across from him scared Jim. “Have you?”

Leonard glowered in return.

Stalemate. Glancing away from the intensity of Leonard’s gaze, Jim’s eyes landed on the holo. The baby looked happy and healthy. Happy without Jim. Tentatively, he asked, “What’s his name?”

“Christopher.” Leonard smiled, fondly, warmth unmistakable in his voice, “Christopher James Kirk-McCoy.”

Jim felt something clench in his chest, then release. _Christopher_. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Leonard’s arms closed around him again. _Christopher James Kirk-McCoy_. Fuck, he couldn’t do this. Leonard squeezed tightly, then ran his hands up and down Jim’s back in a soothing gesture he recognized from even before they were a couple. 

Forcing his diaphragm to move, he took a gulping breath and forced out, “What happened, Bones?”

Biting back the flippant remark, _Well, Jim, when aliens decide a captain and chief medical officer love each other very much…_ Leonard admitted, “I don’t know.” Keeping up the gentle stroking, too close to meet Jim’s eyes, he continued, “At first I was scared, Jim. Scared they’d killed you. That we’d never catch them. That you’d never find your way home. Then I was scared of him. Of Christopher. What he meant. Of having to choose what to do without you.”

Murmured into soft cloth covering Leonard’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, Bones.”

“I didn’t tell anyone his name until I was holding him. I didn’t want anyone to get excited in case…” more softly, “myself included.” Leonard’s collarbone was sharp under Jim’s cheek, the scant cushion of muscle and fat pared away. “I was worried sick, until I _was_ sick. The mechanism to accelerate his growth was toxic to me and we didn’t know how long I’d be able to hold out, even with medical support, but there was a failsafe where removing him early would kill him.”

“You chose him.” It was a statement and a question in one. “Over your own health?” _Your own life_.

“How could I not?” Leonard struggled to explain what had been so straightforward in the moment. “He’s ours… and you were gone. And then he was here and I was scared all over again.” Softly, he admitted, “I didn’t want to be your mom.” Winona. Blue eyes that glowed dully, wearing her grief like a breastplate. A tension in her frame when she hugged her son, who resembled his father. The thought of having his beautiful, perfect, boy without Jim made Leonard’s stomach twist. 

Jim flinched at the admission. He’d never talked with his mother about it. About his father’s blue eyes and blonde hair and thick eyebrows that took up residence on Jim’s own face when he started middle school. About hugs that grew weaker as he grew older. Tours in the black that got longer and more frequent.

Pulling back, needing eye contact, Leonard said, “I’m sorry I sprung him on you like that.” Another half-step back and he scrubbed a hand through his hair as he admitted, “I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.” And he hadn’t been. At all. Christopher had been inconsolable when he got to their quarters and Jim had been _home_ and when he finally got the boy to quiet a strange numbness had settled over Leonard that he didn’t understand.

Reflexively, Jim replied, “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Leonard pulled back further, hands coming up to cross over his chest. “I shouldn’t have…”

“Bones.” Jim stepped forwards, reaching out and uncrossing Leonard’s unresisting arms, drawing the other man towards himself. “It’s okay… just, talk to me.”

Leonard’s gaze flickered down to their hands, then back up to Jim’s face as he said, “I didn’t want to leave you in the med bay, but Christopher must have picked up on the tension on the ship and was screaming the place down instead of going to bed. He’s normally so good about bedtime, Rand was worried and commed me. Then, once I got him to settle, I just…” The numbness was hard to explain. “I just, I don’t know, I couldn’t move. I should have been so happy, but I just _couldn’t feel_.” Shaking his head and looking down, Leonard mumbled, “How fucked up is that?”

Sliding his hands up to grip too-thin biceps, Jim gently said, “It’s okay to be overwhelmed, Bones.” When the other man didn’t reply, he steered them both towards the sofa, pulling them down to sit angled towards each other with their knees brushing. Taking a breath, and a leap, Jim asked, “Tell me about him.”

A warm smile blossomed on Leonard’s face as he breathed, “He’s wonderful.” Jim felt something tug in his chest at his partner’s expression. “He was a little small when he was born, but he grew so fast he was hitting all his milestones faster than we could believe. His first word was ‘ship’.” Leonard shook his head, fondly, “Definitely your son.” Once he started, it was hard to stop. “He _adores_ Spock. It’s uncanny.” Leonard barked out a laugh at a memory, “He once spent half a shift sitting on Spock’s lap on the bridge and didn’t fuss once. Not once! You should see the look on the Vulcan’s face when Christoper gets him by the ears. He loves the bridge, and the observation deck. He’s just walking; the first time he stumbled over to bang on an airlock I just about had a heart attack. If he’s fussy at naptime, the hum in engineering puts him right to sleep. Scotty offered to rig up a crib down there, but it was too close to the warp core for me. Once I came home to find Keenser singing some kind of Roylan lullaby to him, at least I think it was a lullaby; I didn’t know he could speak like that."

The tug in Jim’s chest seemed to grow. “I’ve missed so much.” Leonard pursed his lips, unable to deny it. Remembering Spock’s warning, he asked, “You really want to keep him on the Enterprise?”

One side of Leonard’s mouth twisted up in a self conscious half-smile, “It’s home.”

Jim gave a nod, his chin jerking up and down; unable to disagree with the sentiment, but still so very unsure. 

The discussion stalled, Leonard slipped back into the comfortable mantle of caretaker and scrutinized Jim for a long moment. Reaching over to the table next to the couch, he plucked up a medical scanner and ran it over the other man, concern growing when Jim didn’t offer any protest. Damaged muscle tissue, dehydration, low blood sugar, high cortisol levels and markers of exhaustion… it told a story he’d seen before. “Have you eaten?”

Too tired to muster a lie, Jim answered, “Coffee and protein bars.”

“And you’ve been to the gym?”

A muscle twitched in Jim’s jaw, “That, and I have a routine I do in my quarters. I couldn’t sleep.”

The readings looked like the last time Leonard had brushed with mortality: when he’d nearly lost the battle against xenopolycythemia. Tentatively, Leonard took Jim’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the little spot of thickened bone that they’d never properly discussed. “You need to rest, Jim. Rest and eat.”

The thrum of nervous tension was still there, but instead of running Jim offered an explanation that was almost two years outstanding: “When I thought I was going to lose you I fell back into old patterns. I never want to do that again, Bones.”

Old patterns. Leonard could remember Jim, impossibly young in a bloodstained leather jacket, fixing to fight out whatever emotion he didn’t want to confront. “You broke your finger? When I was sick?” Something flickered in Jim’s eyes at the understatement of _sick_. “How?”

“Spock.”

Disbelief made the words come out strangled, “Spock broke your finger?” When Jim nodded, a hot flash of emotion had Leonard starting to rise.

“Bones,” Jim clasped the other man by wrists, trying to prevent Leonard from storming off to give the Vulcan heck, “I broke my finger against his face.”

Freezing, then slumping back onto the couch, Leonard asked, weakly, “You broke your finger against his _face_.”

Jim shrugged, embarrassed to admit, “And he dislocated a knuckle against mine. That’s why it wasn’t his finest work with the regenerator.”

Lips thinning at the amateurish medical treatment, Leonard asked, “Anything else?”

“Just some ribs.”

Leonard grasped the hem of Jim’s shirt and tugged upwards, as if he could somehow spot the old injuries.

Batting away the doctor’s hands, Jim swore, “Jesus, Bones, it was two years ago. It was what I needed, at the time. It’s fine.”

“Fine” was one of Leonard’s least favourite words in Jim’s vocabulary. That said, it had been a long time ago. He allowed himself to settle more comfortably on the couch. Regarding the other man, he swallowed convulsively. Jim’s hair was too long, curling where it brushed against his collar. Leonard reached out and ran his fingers through the locks, Jim’s eyes slipping closed in response. He slipped his hand around to gently grasp the back of the other man’s neck, pulling him forwards and down as he told the computer to kill the lights. They stretched out in a familiar tangle of limbs, settling into a position they’d slept in many times before.

Eventually, Leonard asked, “Are you okay?”

“I am now.”

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

The silence stretched.


	5. Chapter 5

0630 brought a comforting weight pressing Leonard into the depths of the couch and faint squawks and babbles coming from the open door of the bedroom. He tilted his head to inhale the scent of Jim, tucked against his collarbone, then in a sleep-slurred voice commanded, “Computer, lights.”

Jim shifted as the room brightened, a sleepy frown dissolving into a soft smile as he shifted so they were nose to nose, planting a quick kiss on Leonard’s lips. It felt good, so he did it again, then slid back enough to meet the other man’s eyes. “Morning.”

Hope stirred brightly in Leonard’s chest as he replied, “Morning, darlin’.” The old endearment slipped out naturally, and damned if it didn’t feel good on his tongue.

A louder, but happy, squawk from the bedroom had Jim’s answering smile dim slightly, then return with a look more suited to a diplomatic mission than the living room. Leonard had seen the smile countless times, but not aimed at _him_ since after the warp core, when Jim had been desperately trying to pretend everything was fine.

Keeping his tone warm and calm, Leonard ignored Jim’s slightly fixed smile and twitched his chin towards the bedroom, “Sounds like someone’s up.” He brought his hands up to run along Jim’s flanks in a soothing gesture, “Want to meet him?” 

Jim felt sweat prickle on his forehead, a little pang of stress at Leonard’s words going right through him. 

Leonard’s hands stroked again, grounding Jim in their warm tangle of limbs as he continued, “It’ll be fine. He doesn’t bite…” Leonard’s eyes twinkled, “much.”

Jim barked out a laugh, despite himself. “As bad as the Gorn octuplets?”

Lip curling, Leonard’s expression soured even though mirth danced in his eyes as he said, “Don’t you dare compare our son to a Gorn, Jim. He’s much more well behaved.” Satisfied that the joking had eased some of the tension from Jim’s frame, Leonard patted at the other man’s hips, “Up. He’ll sing to himself for a little while, but soon he’s going to wonder where I am and it’s only going to get louder.”

Untangling their limbs and standing, Leonard pressed an impulsive kiss to Jim’s jaw and gave a reassuring squeeze around his shoulders for good measure before leading the way into the small bedroom. Voice pitching into a gentle sing-song Jim had never heard before, Leonard called out, “Good morn-ing, Christopher!” Tousled blonde hair and bright blue eyes peeked over the edge of the crib and a delighted squeal only made the doctor smile more broadly. “Come on, son. Up!” Little hands waved in the air and Leonard scooped the boy up into his arms, planting a kiss on the upturned face before turning back to the figure hovering just inside the door.

“Christopher,” Leonard felt something catch in his throat, but managed to get the words out anyway, “Look: Daddy’s home.” Jim seemed frozen in the doorway and the weight of decisions taken in absentia pressed on Leonard, leaving him suddenly nervous at the choice he’d made. “I thought,” Leonard cleared his throat and continued, “Thought that might be your preference.” Suddenly uncertain, he added, “I’m sorry if…”

“No!” Christopher startled at Jim’s objection, glancing between them with a little frown of uncertainty. Jim carefully pitched his voice more calmly. “No, Bones...” He’d never thought about it, but being called _daddy_ … “Thank you. Really, that’s. That’s good.” Acutely aware Christopher was watching him warily, he asked, “What are you called?”

Leonard swallowed and softly replied, “Papa.”

“Papa,” Christopher echoed, twisting to reach up and pat Leonard’s cheek.

Jim took a tentative step into the room, gaze jumping over the strong curl of Leonard’s arm as he held the boy, the similarity in the shape of their faces despite the baby-fat on one, and eyes that were like looking in a mirror. Jesus. He was _theirs_ , just as Bones had said.

Christopher reached out and brushed slightly saliva-damp fingers against Jim’s nose; when had he got so close? Jim blinked in surprise, finding that he’d been the one to cross the room. The boy leaned forwards so they were nose to nose and Jim gently whispered, “Hi.”

Suddenly shy, Christopher squirmed around to bury his face in Leonard’s neck.

Bringing his other hand up to rub the small back, Leonard gently said, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s daddy.” Twisting to encourage a line of sight between Jim and his son, he added, “He’s never met anyone new before. Not that he’d remember, anyway.”

Christopher peeked out, then smiled. Jim felt his face twist into an answering smile, even as his heart was pounding. The boy smiled more broadly, twisting back to face Jim as Leonard said, “See? It’s Daddy.”

A small frown creased the little forehead and Jim felt a spark of acute unease that he was _screwing this up_ , then Christopher removed a finger he’d jammed in his mouth and pointed towards the dresser next to the crib. 

Leonard gave a sigh that was more of a gasp of relief and breathed, “That’s right: Daddy.” 

Jim followed the direction of the wet digits and found a series of framed holos on the dresser: his official portrait, looking slightly stiff in a grey dress uniform; a holo from the last holiday party, surrounded by his command crew and smiling broadly; Jim and Leonard together, smiling even as they brushed damp shoulders after an unexpected rainshower in Georgia; and an unguarded holo Leonard had captured on shore leave, the bright sunlight making Jim’s eyes shine in the close-up shot. He was laughing, he remembered, a little tipsy as they sat at a beachside bar on Pacifica.

Hitching Christopher up higher in his arms, Leonard explained, “I tried to make sure he’d know who you were, when we got you back.”

The small hand changed direction, reaching towards Jim again and he obediently bent down, letting the fingers rub over his nose. From far away he heard, “here,” and then the small body was moving towards him with unwavering intent, and it was all he could do to wrap his hands around the boy’s waist as Leonard transferred him into Jim’s arms.

Christopher accepted the transfer without complaint, leaning backwards slightly so he could look up at Jim’s face, open mouthed.

“Hi,” Jim repeated, forcing himself to try, for Leonard’s sake, “I’m your daddy.” He managed not to grimace as saliva-slick fingers patted his cheek, then caught in his too-long hair. Christopher babbled his interest and Jim had to admit there was something aweing in seeing the combination of their features in a real, living little person. Leonard’s declaration of the night before came back to him: _he’s wonderful_ , and Jim could feel a real smile settle on his own face as Christopher’s eyebrows danced in a miniature version of Bones’ expression when he was trying to figure out something particularly perplexing. “Holy shit.” The murmur was out before he realized he was speaking, “He’s got your eyebrows, Bones.” 

Jim held the small body for a moment longer before Christopher started to fuss, wriggling and reaching back to his papa. Leonard scooped him back with what appeared to be a satisfied smile, turning towards the changing table against the far wall as he said, “Jim: top drawer in the dresser, grab me socks, a top, and trousers… unless you’d like to tackle the diaper.”

Cheeks pinking, Jim dove towards the dresser, yanking open the drawer to find a dizzying jumble of tiny clothing. Grabbing socks at random, he hovered over the tops before selecting one with a design of little red rockets, the sort found in ancient cartoons from the first age of orbital space flight. There was what appeared to be matching set of trousers with painted-on zips and fastenings mimicking a vintage flight suit. Waiting until the activity at the changing table seemed to have concluded, Jim passed over the clothing and watched as Leonard maneuvered the squirming child into them with practiced ease. 

Giving a final tug on the socks, Leonard glanced back at Jim to explain, “Chapel gave him those. The traitor.” There was only fondness in his voice despite the words, “This and the onesie with the little hyposprays on it, so I can’t hold it against her if she...” the sing-song returned as he gently scrabbled a hand over Christopher’s stomach, making the boy chortle in reply, “risks making my little boy into a pilot!” Teasing done, Leonard lifted Christopher to his hip in a practiced motion as he said, “Come on, let’s get some breakfast.” Catching the captain glancing down at his sleep rumpled uniform, he drawled, “Say goodbye to your vanity, Jim. He’s going through a banana phase and you’re better off getting dressed properly _after_ you’ve washed the bits out of your hair.” Suppressing a chuckle at the younger man’s wince, he added, “We’ll get him fed and then Martens can look after him until after lunch. He’s still napping twice a day, but just barely.”

Without waiting for a reply, Leonard turned and led the way to the mess hall, Jim following, almost jogging to draw alongside the other man as they reached the lift. Leonard’s gaze slid sideways and Jim caught a warm smile on the doctor’s face as they walked through the corridor side-by-side.

Leonard didn’t pause at the replicators; instead, he made straight for the officer’s mess where what looked like a small bucket seat had been clipped to the side of the table. He ignored it, however, and sat down with Christopher cradled on his lap. Indicating the chair at his right, he smiled at Jim, invitingly, “Grab a chair.”

A crewman entered before they were forced into small talk, hurrying over with a warm, “Good morning Dr. McCoy; Christopher. Welcome back, Captain!” A plate of scrambled eggs and fruit was deposited at Leonard’s elbow, and a bowl of what appeared to be chopped banana set down in front of Christopher. “What can I get you, Captain?”

“Scrambled eggs and toast,” he chanced a glance at Leonard, “with extra bacon, please, crewman.” The doctor rolled his eyes, but for once didn’t comment on the choice.

“Absolutely, sir.” The young man hurried away as Christopher gave a lunge towards the banana and nearly upset the bowl.

True to Leonard’s word, fifteen minutes later and there was banana in Jim’s hair. He suspected it had happened when Christopher had made a concerted scramble towards his bacon. There was also banana in his lap and mashed into the cuff of his shirt. While the meal had been an involved, squirmy affair, Jim hadn’t missed how Leonard had spent as much time pushing the scrambled eggs around on his plate as eating.

They hadn’t talked about much in particular; Jim was rapidly discovering that keeping Christopher occupied appeared to be a full time job. On a normal morning other officers might have turned up, but they were almost conspicuous in their absence. Catching Jim glancing towards the doors, Leonard reached over and covered the captain’s hand with his own, “Everyone was working pretty hard as we closed in on your location; I think Spock was going to give the bridge crew a rotation off to rest once we were safely turned back to Yorktown.” He pulled the hand back and picked up his fork again, poking at the eggs without bringing any to his mouth, “They might be trying to give us a little time together as well.”

Mollified, Jim returned to his own breakfast, eating the last slice of his bacon with relish and watching as Leonard tackled his son with a damp cloth.

Scooping up the boy once again, Leonard plucked at Jim’s shoulder as he stood, “Come on, let’s go get ourselves cleaned up.”

As they made their way through the corridors Jim caught Christopher peeking over at him from the crook of Leonard’s neck. Waiting until the next glance, he deliberately offered a smile and felt something warm in his chest when the gesture was shyly returned. 

They arrived in the middle of crew quarters without Jim really realizing where they were going. A door opened immediately at Leonard’s chime and Christopher willingly twisted into the pair of hands that reached into the hall. 

Leonard let his son go with a smile. “We’ll be back after lunch to put him down for his afternoon nap.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll play some music, have a nap, and I think that spinach thing that was a hit last week is on the menu again for lunch.” A young voice: male. Jim chanced a glance at the nameplate by the door and confirmed it was Crewman Martens. Thinking back, he remembered a personnel file that mentioned seven younger siblings. 

Leonard smiled, looking more relaxed than he had all morning. “Thanks again, Aaron.”

“Always a pleasure, sir.” Martens gently took Christopher’s hand by the wrist and bobbed it in a wave, “Bye bye!”

Leonard chuckled, _chuckled_ , and returned the gesture so readily Jim had to peer around the doorframe for a better look. 

Martens’ eyes widened when he caught sight of the captain as well, but gamely continued the wave, adding, “Welcome back, Captain. We’ll see you later.”

Cheeks pinking, Jim nodded, stammering slightly as the words came out the wrong way around, “Of course, crewman; thank you.”

The door slid shut and Leonard’s smile slowly faded into something more appraising as he regarded Jim. 

Feeling his face flushing further, Jim couldn’t help cross his arms over his chest, “What?” The petulance apparent in his tone only made him feel more off balance.

“Nothing.” Leonard gently touched Jim’s elbow, pivoting them in the corridor, “Come on, let’s go home and get cleaned up.”

 _Home_

Something quivered with excitement in Jim at the word, a feeling that only increased when it was clear Leonard was leading them to the captain’s quarters, rather than the CMO’s suite. 

As they entered the quarters there was a perceptible drop in their shoulders, posture relaxing as the tension of being _officers_ drained away as the door slid closed behind them.

Waving towards the bathroom, Leonard said, “Take first shower; I need to check the med bay shift notes: one of the engineers was booked for a minor procedure last night.”

It wasn’t an offer to shower together as Jim would have liked, but Leonard moving towards his side of their shared desk was such a familiar, reassuring sight that he didn’t complain. Grasping the hem of his top, he faltered, then strode into the other room to pull off his clothes.

When bathroom door slid closed behind the captain Leonard slouched in his desk chair as he considered the situation. Jim wasn’t okay. Not yet. Leonard could tell immediately: moving to the other room rather than unselfconsciously changing; the way he kept positioning himself with his back to a wall; the slightly stilted replies to well wishes from his crew; the way he’d started portioning his breakfast, as if intending to set some aside. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t normal for _Jim_. Fourteen weeks, alone, on an alien ship. Leonard couldn’t begin to imagine.

When Jim eventually returned from the other room already fully dressed it only confirmed Leonard’s suspicions that a counselling referral would have to happen; shit, Jim was going to _love_ that. Burying his concern, he pecked a kiss on Jim’s lips as he made his own way to the bathroom, dialling up the heat on the shower and consciously willing himself to relax in the steam.

Ten minutes later Leonard came out of the bathroom with only a towel slung low on his hips, moving to rummage through the dresser filled with their off-duty clothing.

From his place on the sofa, Jim could clearly see Leonard’s too thin frame under the lights of the cabin. It reminded him of a time he’d tried to forget, but when he remembered the officer’s mess Jim made himself comment, “You didn’t each much breakfast, Bones.” 

Leonard froze, shirt hanging loosely from his fingers. After a moment, he managed to lick his lips and replied, “Wasn’t up to it for a while there.” Ruefully, he added, “Turns out morning sickness is a bitch, then the stress was pretty bad. Turned into a habit, I guess.”

Remembering their conversation from the night before, and Jim’s own tendencies where stress was concerned, he offered, “Keep me out of my old habits, and I’ll keep you out of yours?”

Leonard’s brittle expression softened and he nodded, quickly, then pulled on his shirt and obscuring the view of his torso, replied, “Sounds good, Jim.”

They regarded each other from opposite sides of the small living quarters, stuck at an impasse.

Eventually, Jim brought a hand up to scratch at the hair tickling the back of his neck as he softly asked, “How many years, Bones, and we’ve never been awkward around each other?” It wasn’t strictly true, but in the moment it felt painfully salient.

Leonard brought his own hand up, unconsciously mimicking Jim’s posture as he replied, “A lot’s happened…” He knew this was about more than Christopher, but only Jim could broach that.

Eventually, Jim did. With a step towards the other man, he dropped his hands to hang loosely at his sides. “It was so long, Bones. I didn’t think they would hurt me, but I couldn’t let my guard down, just in case. At first I was sure you’d get me back.” He licked his lips, throat suddenly tight. _But after a while…_

Leonard crossed the room and pulled Jim into a firm hug, whispering into his ear, “Let’s take a day off.” It was a familiar term going back to the academy: on a rare Sunday when Jim had no extracurriculars and Leonard was free from clinic shifts, they’d mute their comms, put a DND on the door, order takeout and spend a day on the couch watching vids, talking, playing chess, drinking beer… whatever caught their fancy. After a moment, he felt Jim relax into the embrace; a sign he was considering the suggestion.

“Yeah.” Jim’s voice was muffled.

Rubbing a hand soothingly over Jim’s back, Leonard continued softly. “We’ll put our feet up and have a yeoman bring us lunch. Your choice, something you missed. Gotta call in the perks of being a captain sometime, Jim.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” He sighed, “I know I had bacon for breakfast, but I could murder a burger later.”

Leonard’s chuckle rattled between them, “You and your red meat.” He gave a final squeeze, then stepped back, “See what we had queued up in the vid system; I’ll send a message to the mess so lunch will be ready in time.”

They restarted a half-watched film from the beginning, then followed it with the sequel that had come out more recently. They started sitting, but slowly slumped together on the couch in a familiar tangle: Leonard’s head pillowed on Jim’s chest. It felt good. It felt like _home_.

Two films and a three month-old holo-news brief later, the door chimed. Leonard rolled off the couch with a groan, motioning for the captain to stay down. After some hushed conversation at the door, Jim’s eyes flew open when something soft landed on his chest. The fabric was unmistakable: Pike’s blanket, now returned to his quarters. He looked up to find Leonard regarding him with a slightly crooked smile.

“Christopher likes it too, but it belongs here.”

Running a hand reverently over the blanket, Jim carefully set it over the back of the couch. “Thanks Bones.” The covered trays in the doctor’s hands smelled amazing after weeks of bland Hav’yhr food and Jim held up his hands, “Gimme.”

Leonard snorted, “Infant.” Passing down one tray, he settled shoulder to shoulder with the other man and opened his own. God, he sighed to himself around the first bite, the chef had outdone himself. Nothing had tasted right while Jim was gone, even after Christopher had been safely born. Methodically chewing and swallowing, Leonard enjoyed his meal until an uncomfortable knot started forming in his stomach. He paused and looked at his plate: a third of the burger and a small heap of fries still to go. Remembering Jim’s words he took another bite, swallowing, and trying to hide a grimace when it made his stomach ache further.

“It’s okay, Bones.” Leonard glanced up quickly to find the other man watching him with nothing but compassion. Placing a hand on Leonard’s knee, Jim squeezed gently and said, “Don’t try to force it right away; your stomach won’t be up for a big meal.”

Suddenly nauseous, Leonard returned the remains of the burger to the tray, quickly covering it and sliding it away from the couch with his foot. 

“Come here.” Jim set aside his own plate, nearly empty, and leaned back, invitingly. Leonard settled into the same position as before, breathing a soft groan of relief as Jim’s arms circled him, rubbing gently over his chest and stomach. They settled back into a comfortable tangle on the couch and Jim called for the last vid to resume. 

An hour later Leonard was feeling both more relaxed and comfortable, the knot in his belly easing under Jim’s gentle ministrations. He’d almost forgotten responsibility was looming, until there was a chime at the door. Rolling off the couch again and telling Jim to wait, he found Martens looking like he couldn’t quite believe he’d rung the captain’s door chime.

The young man held a sleepy Christopher in one arm, gaze deliberately fixed on Leonard’s face rather than looking into the room beyond as he explained, “We were visiting the botany lab and he was looking pretty tired so I thought maybe it would be easier to drop him off than have you come down…”

Once again, Leonard was reminded of how there was always a distance between captain and crew, no matter how approachable and well loved the superior officer. For someone as gregarious as Jim, it was a hard line to walk, and Leonard let real warmth bleed into his voice as he said, “Thanks, Aaron, that’s very considerate of you.” He carried Christopher into the main room and found Jim sitting up on the couch, watching them closely as the door slid shut and they were alone again.

“Do we have to…” Aware it sounded selfish, Jim trailed off. _Relocate_. Go down to the CMO’s quarters, that had never felt like a home for Jim as well.

Leonard understood the question anyway and shook his head, “He can sleep on your bed. If we put some pillows around he shouldn’t squirm off the edge.” He reached down and gave Jim’s shoulder a squeeze, “Give me five minutes alone with him; he should drop off pretty quickly. I think Martens wore him out.” 

When Leonard still hadn’t reappeared after ten minutes, Jim made his way into the bedroom to find a wide awake Christopher squirming on the bed and rubbing at his eyes.

Leonard looked up from where he was stretched out along one side of the bed, rubbing his son’s belly, and softly said, “He’s fighting it, but it’ll be a hell of an afternoon if he doesn’t go down soon.”

Christopher gave a fussy whine, looking up at Jim with a frown that looked on the verge of tears.

“Hey,” Jim perched on the other edge of the bed, reaching out and gently brushing a hand over the small brow, “What’s wrong, little man?” It was an almost unconscious gesture, one from a time he’d tried to forget for so long.

With an appraising glance at how Christopher’s leaned into Jim’s hand, Leonard suggested, “Why don’t you take him to engineering?”

“What?” Jim blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“He likes the sound of the warp core; that and a cuddle should put him out like a light.”

Doubt swirled in Jim’s gut, but he was unsure how to object. “Bones…”

“You can do it, Jim. I promise. He’s just worn out and fussy, not overtired.” Leonard smiled, “I don’t think we’re fixing for a meltdown.”

“You don’t _think_...”

“If he fusses too much, just bring him back.” Dangling a carrot, the doctor added, “You can have Scotty give you an update on the Hav’yhr slipstream technology. It’s all he’s been talking about for weeks-- he thinks the team’s reverse-engineering of the network could win them a Cochrane award.”

A _Cochrane_. For the Enterprise engineering team to win one during their first deep space mission…

“You can do it.” Leonard’s eyes held a confidence Jim could never resist. “I promise. Just bring him back or comm me if you have any questions.”

Things moved very quickly after that, and Jim found himself walking through the corridors, alone save for Christopher grumbling into the crook of his neck. Like father, like son, Jim supposed. He ducked into engineering and found the usual hive of well controlled activity.

“Captain!” Scotty waved from where he was sitting next to a console. “Little mite can’t sleep? We have just the ticket.”

There was a tugging at his trouser leg and Jim looked down to find Keenser staring up at him, black eyes flickering in interest. The Roylan pointed and Jim followed the gesture to find an alcove near the warp core with what looked like a homemade contraption not unlike a recliner in it. Walking over, he settled into the chair to find the back pitched at an angle that made it easy to settle Christopher against his chest. The steady thrum of the core was a familiar presence, and it seemed almost amplified in the dim alcove. 

Bones’ assertion appeared true, as it wasn’t long before the puffs of breath against his neck evened out, and the small body slackened into a restful sleep. For a moment Jim’s nostrils were assaulted with the phantom scent of decay and the memory of Meribelle in his arms; three years old and barely weighing more than Christopher. Jim was jolted back to the present by something soft landing on him, and he opened eyes he hadn’t realized were closed to find Keenser regarding him keenly, the little alien obviously the source of the knit blanket.

Jim had to swallow around a lump in his throat before he gently said, “Thanks, Keenser.”

The alien gave a little bow, vacating the alcove when Scotty appeared with a stool to perch on and a cup of tea. Jim cast a worried glance at the now sleeping child, and the engineer waved a hand in the air, “Ach, don’t worry, captain. He’s used to me shooting the breeze in here while he naps. Treats it just like the background noise.” He took a quick sip of his tea, “Tunes me right out.”

Oh. Well. “In that case, what’s this gossip I hear about a Cochrane?”

The engineer’s eyes lit up and Jim realized this wasn’t going to be a short chat. An hour and a half later Christopher squirmed awake, seemingly content once he realized his makeshift bed was Jim instead of Leonard. Sensing the captain’s relief, Scotty was quick to offer, “He’s an easy baby, Jim. Easy as any of my nieces and nephews, and Scotts are legendarily unfussy. He loves his papa, but Doctor McCoy did a brilliant job getting him used to everyone.”

Unsure how to reply, Jim instead brought a hand up to brush through Christopher’s soft blonde curls. He was surprised by this: how good it felt to sit there with Scotty, chatting like they always did, with his son slumbering on his chest.

As he woke up further, Christopher began to squirm and the engineer gave them an appraising glance as he said, “You haven’t done a diaper yet, have you, you lucky bastard?” Without waiting for a reply, he called, “Oi!” Keenser appeared so quickly Jim suspected the little alien had been loitering nearby. “Your turn, wee man.”

Before Jim could comment, Keenser held out his arms and Christopher squirmed off Jim’s lap with surprising speed. The little alien trotted away, clearly stronger than he looked as he had no trouble carrying the boy.

Seeing a glimmer of parental concern on the captain’s face, Scotty waved a hand, “He’ll change him in my office and dump the soiled goods in the hazardous waste chute; it’s how we’ve been doing it since the curry incident last month.” Something about the haunted look on the engineer’s face made Jim decline to inquire what that was. “He adores the wee man and the feeling is mutual. Doctor McCoy had to make a rule that Keenser has to _ask_ before babysitting.”

Jim snorted at the thought of Leonard laying down the law. Probably with crazy hair and twitching eyebrows to boot. They chatted for a little while longer, until Keenser returned with a more comfortable looking Christopher walking beside him, albeit with a few wobbles.

Jim made to pick up his son, but Christopher squirmed and caught him with an elbow to the face. Trying again, his son whined and arched his back, giving an emphatic, “No!” Surprised, Jim rocked back on his heels.

Keenser’s eyes flickered from side to side, and in his small, gravelly voice the little alien said, “Walk.” 

Walk? Oh. Jim reached down and took one of Christopher’s hands instead, and with the realization that this was going to be Hell on his lower back allowed himself to be tugged, bent over, towards the main entrance. Bidding the engineers goodbye over his shoulder, he made his way into the corridor, offering a steady hand when his son tripped or wobbled.

As they made their shuffling way through the ship, Jim realized that while he was being met with warm smiles, they were _different smiles_ than he was used to. Entering a turbolift to find two ensigns from sciences, he caught them sharing a glance before greeting him as the doors slid closed. Three decks later they said goodbye, to him and Christopher, as he exited the lift and Jim caught himself pausing after the doors slid shut. The crew had always been friendly enough, but there was still a formality in every interaction. Among the younger crew, nervousness often permeated their interactions, despite Jim trying to put others at ease. Somehow, it had felt like an easier, unselfconscious, warmth from the ensigns in the lift. 

Nudging Christopher to walk in the right direction, they continued their slow progress through the ship, pausing patiently when each junction seemed to merit inspection. When the door to the captain’s quarters slid open and revealed Leonard working at the desk, Jim felt an unexpected rush of relief. He hadn’t realized he’d been afraid the doctor had left for his own quarters a level below.

Leonard glanced up and found Christopher and Jim framed in the open doorway, the captain bent over to gently hold one small hand. His mind skipped away from the medical update he’d been reading: _They’re beautiful together_. It was an almost visceral realization, even though it was no surprise. 

Jim released his son’s hand and straightened up with obvious relief, watching as Christopher took off across the room and wrapped his small arms around Leonard’s knees. The doctor’s stylus clattered down onto the table, and he quickly swept the boy up on to his lap. Christopher let out a long string of excited gibberish, pointing back towards Jim as he did so. Leonard smiled, quirking an eyebrow as he replied, “You don’t say? And did Daddy and Mr. Scott keep you awake with all their talking?” A delighted squeal was his reply, before the boy reached down and banged a padd against the desk. Gently sliding the padd out of reach, Leonard glanced up to find Jim collapsing onto the couch. “How was he?”

“Fine.” Jim sounded almost surprised. “Great, actually, he was out like a light and slept right through us talking.” Knowing that Leonard was asking about more than just the nap, he found himself softly adding, “It felt good, Bones.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” It was hard to put into words, but he forced himself to try. “For a moment I remembered Meribelle.”

“I’m sorry.”

There was a treacherous prickle behind Jim’s eyes and a huskiness to his voice, “God, Bones, it was so long ago, and it still…”

Leonard quickly set Christopher down on the floor with an old, powered-off padd to play with and crossed the room to settle on the couch next to Jim. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s _not_ okay!” Trying to keep his voice low even through the outburst he hissed, “Jesus, Bones, it was so long ago. I can’t, fuck, is it always going to be like this?” 

Running his hands in what he hoped was a soothing gesture up and down Jim’s arms, Leonard tried to ground the other man. “Jim, look at me.” He waited until the other man’s skittering gaze finally settled on his face. “You went a long time not thinking about Tarsus,” he felt a shiver go through Jim’s biceps at the rarely-mentioned name, “but you will encounter things that bring it back. Probably more out here than Earthside. It won’t feel good, but it _is_ okay.”

Jim’s blue eyes were like cut glass, reflecting the light in the quarters without giving anything away as Leonard continued, “You’re strong, Jim, and you have your whole crew behind you. And I’m right here.” Aware he was making a promise, Leonard gave the other man a little nod and added, “Always.”

Something flickered in Jim’s eyes and he seemed to calm, returning Leonard’s nod in a gesture that was more weary than angry.

There was a clatter from beside the desk and both men turned to find Christopher standing several feet from where he’d thrown the padd, looking at them with a frown. Jim’s heart sank; losing it in front of the kid was a great first impression. The itch to jump up and leave was strong, but he’d promised Leonard he’d try to break old habits. He lowered his gaze to the fabric of the couch, even as Leonard ducked his head to try and maintain eye contact.

Whatever Leonard wanted to say was lost when there was a patter of small feet and two hands fisted in the knees of Jim’s trousers. Glancing up quickly in surprise, Jim found Christopher shifting his weight from side to side as he used his father’s knees for balance.

Trying to salvage the situation, Jim cleared his throat and managed to get out, “Hey, buddy.”

Christopher gave an anxious babble and Jim barely managed to resist the urge to look to Leonard for guidance. Instead, he let himself remember a cave on a dying planet, and what had been the right thing to do. Gently grasping his son under the armpits, Jim drew him up into his lap as he spoke, “It’s okay. I’m sorry if I scared you.” He could feel the tension in the small frame, so he planted a quick kiss to the top of Christopher’s head and tucked the boy more tightly against him. “Daddy was upset.” He let his voice resonate in his chest, knowing it would be a comforting rumble under Christopher’s cheek. “But it’s okay.” He rubbed a hand over the boy’s back and felt a measure of relaxation. “It’s okay.”

Eventually, Jim risked a glance up and found Leonard staring at him, eyes glistening suspiciously under the lights. When their gazes met, one side of Leonard’s mouth turned up in a smile that Jim didn’t quite know how to interpret. The question must have been clear on his face, as Leonard shifted to kneel on the couch, bracing himself with one hand as he reared up and leaned forward to plant a kiss on the top of Jim’s head. 

Oh. 

It was the same comfort Jim had offered Christopher. 

It was also the first time he’d kissed his son.

Ducking his head again, Jim inhaled the scent of baby shampoo and the sweet note that was distinctly the boy. He pressed another kiss into wispy curls and felt tension melt out of his own frame as well. 

After a minute, Christopher stirred, squirming out of Jim’s arms and clambering over to Leonard. The doctor pressed a kiss to his son’s cheek, laughing as the gesture was wetly returned before the boy squirmed his way back down to the floor and looked up at them intently. Waving his hands in the air, he belted out something that seemed to include both papa and dada somewhere in the middle of a string of babble.

Frowning, Jim glanced at the other man for guidance. “What does he want?”

“Oh, Jim. It’s after nap and before dinner.” Leonard quirked an eyebrow in a gesture both determined and weary, a smirk loitering just below the surface. “It’s play time.”


	6. Chapter 6

Two hours of playtime later and Jim was slumped in his seat in the officers' mess, knees aching from crawling over deck plating after his son. They had built a block tower, then knocked it down, then built it again, then knocked it down… he’d stopped counting somewhere after the eleventh reconstruction. Then an assortment of animal figurines had appeared and Bones, the bastard, had declared that as the former treasurer of the academy xenolinguistics club _Jim_ was in charge of providing correctly pronounced names and alarm calls for each one. He winced at the memory and surreptitiously rubbed a sore spot on his ribs: he thought he’d pulled something squealing like a targ. Bones had just about split his sides laughing, but at least Christopher had looked impressed. Books had followed, which was a mercy, but how many times could one child want to hear, “The Very Hungry Sehlat”?

Trying to keep from rubbing his ribs again, Jim shoveled a bite of meatloaf into his mouth. God, it was good. After fourteen weeks of alien food and worry about being drugged, poisoned, or becoming sick, he had to tell himself to slow down as he ate _real_ food. Sneaking a glance up revealed that Leonard was making slow but steady progress on a plate of vegetable stir fry; Jim gave an internal sigh of relief and tried not to appear too overtly interested in how much the doctor was eating.

Christopher was in a bucket seat clamped to the table, an assortment of little pieces of meatloaf and vegetables spread over the table in front of him. Catching his son watching, Jim speared a piece of meatloaf and popped it into his mouth, grinning when the boy carefully picked up his own piece of meatloaf and followed suit. He glanced over to find Leonard watching them both with a smile. 

“You know, Uhura offered to babysit tonight.” Leonard casually spooned something green into Christopher’s mouth. “All night and until 1100 tomorrow.”

Jim swallowed, “All night?” Meatloaf suddenly looked less appealing and he set down his fork. “Did you say yes?”

“Damn right.” Leonard snorted at the brief flicker of doubt in the other man’s eyes, “We’re parents, Jim, not dead.”

Jim breathed a sigh of relief, desire sparking low in his belly as he caught Leonard’s eyes across the table, admiring the little laugh lines that creased the doctor’s face. God, Bones had only got hotter as he got older. Aware he sounded too eager, and simply not caring, Jim asked, “When can we drop him off?”

Leonard raised a knowing eyebrow. “You done?”

“Fu--” Suddenly mindful of small ears, Jim quickly changed the word, “Oh, yes.”

Laughing at the slip, Leonard pushed his own plate away and tackled Christopher with a damp cloth. “Then let’s go. She said they’d be having an early dinner: we’ll drop him at Spock’s.”

“Wait,” thinking back to the afternoon, Jim couldn’t help but grin, “ _Spock_ is going to babysit too?”

Focused on cleaning up the table, Leonard didn’t catch the look on the other man’s face as he absently said, “Sure. He’s really taken to the whole ‘Uncle Spock’ thing I dropped on him. I’ve caught him looking up back issues of the _Journal of Child Development_ in the ship’s library.” 

Sweeping Christopher out of his chair, Jim set the boy comfortably on his hip and made for the doors with a spring in his step. This was going to be _awesome._

As they made their way through the corridors Christopher waved at all the crewmen from where he was ensconced in the captain’s arms. Jim couldn’t help but enjoy how everyone they passed seemed to be in a better mood from having seen his son.

Arriving at Spock’s quarters, something that might have been approval flickered in the Vulcan’s eyes as the door slid open and he found Jim with Christopher in his arms.

The boy’s reaction was instantaneous, lunging forwards with a delighted cry of, “Pock!” 

Jim didn’t know how he kept a straight face as he passed his son over. Fortunately, Leonard stepped in to report, “He’s had two good naps today and we just finished dinner.”

Uhura appeared in the doorway as well, pressing a kiss to Christopher’s head when the boy babbled, “A-Ny, Ny, Ny,” at the sight of her. She looked good, Jim thought; relaxed. 

Pressing gently against Spock’s shoulder, affection plain as she did so, Uhura addressed Leonard with a careful, “Good day?”

Leonard’s eyes flicked sideways to Jim, then back to the comm officer as he smiled, “Yeah, he’s been getting to know his daddy.”

Jim chimed in with his own advice: “He’s probably up for another rendition of _The Very Hungry Sehlat_. Don’t forget to do the voices of _the little Vulcan children who forgot to feed their pet_.”

Christopher clapped his hands in glee, agreeing, “sellit!” even as Spock’s expression became slightly fixed, one eyebrow slanting in suspicion of the captain’s motives.

Sensing it was time to leave, Leonard wrapped his arm around Jim, turning them towards the captain’s quarters as he said, “Thanks for offering to take him tonight. We’ll see you tomorrow morning after his nap.”

Unable to resist, Jim called back over his shoulder just before the door closed, “Bye, Pock!”

Leonard snickered even as he gently cuffed Jim’s shoulder, “For god’s sake, man, don’t harass our babysitters!”

Jim laughed, ducking out from under Leonard’s arm and quickly dragging the other man the few short meters to his quarters.

Home.

The door slid shut behind them and Jim turned to press Leonard back against it, kissing him soundly before tugging him towards the bedroom where they fell in a tangle of limbs, kissing again until it was hard to breathe, and _this_ was something they both had missed so much. Forehead to forehead, they took a moment to catch their breath, reveling in the knowledge that until 1100 the next morning the world beyond their quarters may as well not exist.

Gently, Jim slipped a finger under Leonard’s collar and caught the cord around the other man’s neck, tugging carefully until the two rings popped free and hung between them. “So Bones…” Something was dancing in Jim’s eyes that had been missing since he’d returned, “How was being knocked up? Do I have to tell your grandmother I got you pregnant _before_ offering you a ring?”

“Oh, Hell, no.” Leonard kept his tone light in return, stretching until the tension in his back released with a pop, “I’m getting all the brownie points for that. Another grandchild? She’s going to be thrilled.”

Leonard’s hazel eyes were dancing at the thought of sharing the good news with his family and Jim didn’t think he’d seen the other man look so happy. He _loved_ Bones. It was a simple truth that had the power to take his breath away all over again. “If you’re going to take all the credit for that…” He shifted so he could take Leonard’s hand, quelling sudden butterflies in his chest as he asked, “Will you marry me, Bones?”

“Yes.” Leonard smiled in return, words coming out in a rush, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Impishly, eyes dancing, Jim pushed, “When?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Jim.” Leonard grabbed the other man, rolling them over to trap Jim underneath his body. 

 

********

Two minutes before 1100 Jim ducked into the corridor, narrowly evading the regenerator Leonard had been holding to the red marks on the side of his neck. 

A growled, “Dammit, Jim!” preceded the doctor hurrying into the corridor as well, trying not to look slightly bow legged as he walked. 

Leonard reached out to tug the captain’s collar higher, but Jim batted the hands away with a hissed, “Get back,” that turned into an “ack!’ when the twisting motion pulled slightly strained muscles in his lower back. Limping, he fell into step beside the doctor, both taking a moment to try and look presentable before ringing the chime on the neighboring quarters.

Uhura came to the door with a babbling Christopher and the boy reached out for his fathers when he saw who it was. As she handed the boy to Jim it was with a smile and the assertion that, “He’s fed, napped, changed, and all yours.” Only a slight skew to her ponytail revealed that it might have been a rather busy morning.

Before they could leave they were joined by the owner of the cabin, who inclined his head briefly in greeting as he said, “Captain, doctor, it is good to see you well.” Spock raised an eyebrow and in that moment Leonard knew the damn Vulcan had sensed something of their emotion the night before. 

McCoy slid a hand down to cup Jim’s ass and flashed a grin in return, reveling in an almost childish delight when a green blush colored the tips of the Vulcan’s ears. Served him right.

 

********

James Tiberius Kirk was in love. 

He pressed kisses into soft hair while reading stories at bedtime, and laughed at the miniature version of a frown he knew so well at naptime, and relished the comforting weight of a small body in his arms as he carried his son from his quarters to the mess hall. And if at times he had no idea what he _should_ be doing, he still whispered into a small ear, “It’s going to be okay, son.”


End file.
